Monday, August 15, 2005

 

buses are best

Last week, I went out in the evening looking for a drink and/or snack. There was a sort of mini lakeside restaurant mall by the lake, lots of people there, and you had to drive up a hill to get to the great big car parks that went with the restaurants.

To get up and down this hill there was a sort of golf-buggy with pullalong seat carriages behind that you could ride. At first I thought being driven from a carpark to a restaurant was the stupidest thing I had ever heard of, and I said loudly my legs still work so I will walk thank you, but then the golf buggy stopped right next to me so of course I got on. The driver was singing and waving his arms and being jolly, so I assumed he must enjoy his job and take a positive attitude.

The bar turned out to be pretend Hawaiian with umbrellas made of haystacks and kitsch plastic flowery tablecoverings everywhere. Which was horrible. Also I had forgotten my cigarettes and being evil they did not sell any. So I had to go back up the hill in the golf buggy again, try and avoid conversation with the hyperactive driver, and then ride back down all over again. Which I did, but it was not worth it. The atmosphere in the bar was terrible, all the people thought they were posh and looked like what zombies would look like if they bought all their clothes in banana republic. There were loads of children, always a bad sign, and they were even more like zombies. It was quite horrific. I cannot tell you how much I hate Americans who think they are posh. It is just beyond words terrible. To think that they choose those clothes on purpose to all look the same, it is disgusting, they make lemmings look like avant garde conceptual artists.

Obviously I was desperate to get out so drank my drink quickly and got back on the golf buggy. By now it was dawning on me that the hyperactive man was not happy, he had merely been driven insane by the utter boringness of his job. He seemed to be chatting to the customers but actually he was talking and singing to himself and not hearing anything they said back. Up the hill and down the hill all day long, it is enough to knock anyone off their trolley eventually.

Then I needed to detox before going home so as to avoid taking back the destructive evil vibrations I had picked up from the Hawaiin zombies, so I went off to another bar in inside the town. This one was fine. There were no posh people, no children, plus they had mist-making machines to keep you cool. They also do nice food, but I forgot to eat any due to concentrating on the beer drinking. Also they sold cigarettes. There was no parking though.

So, you can either park and ride golf buggies and go somewhere terrible beyond belief, or you can take the bus. This is why I like buses.


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