Since reaching the oh-so obvious conclusion that he was trapped in some kind of Truman Show, if he knew who Truman was, Tongzka had chosen to cower in a dingy bathroom.

For you see, the Party had reach everywhere, and that includes the media. Tongzka knew all too well how far their iron tentacles that is their influence reached; after all, he'd studied them. He had always suspected in those hours spent at the wonderful, shiny People's Canteens and playing state-approved video games depicting top-hatted executives getting thrown into meat-grinders that maybe the Party might have had something special lined up for him, the one who chose to quit for reasons even he isn't sure of. It was such a long time ago, after all. In any case, it would be no surprise if the Party had planned to trap him in some kind of televised hell. The worst kind of hell, considering that actual hells didn't exist, being an element of bourgeouis church institutions and whatnot.

It was after a good five minutes of being curled up in the corner of the stinking bathroom, clutching his thermal lance tight, that he decided that maybe he was acting rather pitifully and undignified. Cowering in a medieval bathroom is not the way of the Bardovan worker! The real Bardovan worker faces his fate with bold ingenuity! If the Party were behind this, they'd want him to cower here!

Thus, he stood up to his glorious height of three feet (not counting neck), slung his thermal lance on his back, cracked his tiny knuckles, rolled his brain around in his head... figuratively, of course... and burst out the bathroom, back into the mysterious studio set.

Once again, he pattered over to the front bar, confidently sliding on to the barstool this time. He realised by now that there was a simulated language barrier with some elaborate ConLang, probably to make his ordeal even more insane. But he would overcome it! How?

[@SimplyJohn]

First, he knocked on the bar loudly, calling out "D're-keh-b'visk! D're-keh-b'visk!" and signalling for the apparent giant bartender. What he needed was some coffee, and surely he'd know the universal symbol for coffee...

Tongzka removed his Thermal Lance from his back again, using the unlit nozzle to scratch out an image on the bar. An image of a mug, turned sideways, with what resembled a rainbow coming out of it. Hyperspace-in-a-mug, you see.

"...Hyp'n-ka'prun at maag, yat?"