I saw my friends tonight; one is leaving to refurbish buildings in the South Island.
So we all got together to see him off. The place we ended up travelling too was the new food court downtown in Britomart.
I hadn’t been there before. It was a peculiar place. Imagine a giant building crammed with 20 different restaurants shrunk down into miniature, kiosks. It was like going to a comic convention; but, instead, of video games, the wares were an eclectic mix of food and drink. The immense variation in the different types of food on offer was staggering. So to was the genetic variation in human beings dining. Many were quite pretty to my untrained eye. I did a lap of the entire floor to try and map the geography. Just imagine people everywhere yelling, chatting, eating, drinking and carrying on. I had never seen a more gluttonous group of people in my life. These people meant business. They were shovelling food down their gullets like it was the last night, before another level 4 lockdown. I had to pinch myself, as I felt like I had unwittingly fallen into a flash and newly renovated seventh circle of hell.
The vice of sloth was all-consuming, why? Because it was obvious, people were eating not out of any great need for sustenance; but rather, for pleasure and conspicuous consumption like the beautiful, ideologically brainwashed, western creatures they were. I don't mean to be too harsh, perhaps they were just being their natural ape-like selves and completely overpowered by hidden evolutionary forces. God, how hungry they were. It was like they all hadn't eaten for a week. I wondered how many could cook? Maybe, the litany of moorish food shows on Netflix had done there damage. I had no idea what was going on that was for certain as I was half-preoccupied with my day's work. Yet, the whole experience was undeniably jarring.
The expensive lights flashed down on me from the metallic ceiling, and I fell into a daze. Men and women sat at tables everywhere eating hamburgers and drinking beers, or fried chicken, or whatever the hell they desired. The whole thing reeked of ‘persona’, brazen superficiality, ageing desperation, stock standard vice. The place was the furthest thing from Zen one could imagine. It was as if the entire place was buzzing, humming, vibrating with a distinct sense of anxiety and unhappiness. I don't remember seeing one tree or plant anywhere. The place was distinctly post-modern in architectural design with its cacophony of black steel, grey concrete, aluminium lights, the whole thing reminded me of an accursed castle with modern amenities.
To cope with the whole experience, I sailed over the hard granite-like floors and saddled up to the ‘Public’ bar and ordered a drink. Two lost souls behind me were hellbent on ordering their drinks at breakneck speed, so I waved them ahead of me. I contemplated my order and then spoke aloud to the bartender, a young man, who was rather tired looking, overworked and likely highly underpaid. I thought that just to be in this giant hall of people shouting and drinking and carrying on demanded a generous pay-packet. Where I was music was pumping out of speakers at volume. A bald, big-headed DJ was spinning some decks. I recalled a thought from a paper I had read documenting how loud music makes people drink faster. The paper was on the dangers of loud music and hearing damage. Both insights a to all who were present. I quickly placed my filtered ear-plugs in my ears to protect my hearing. Then, the drink appeared on the black wooden bar. I paid the price by tapping my card on the hungry eftpos machine, the bartender thanked me and I walked off. I was then forced to navigate my way back to the table where my friends were. I felt funny walking about drink in hand.
Halfway back to my table, I saw a beautiful young woman dressed in green jeans with strikingly fair paper white skin and a pleasing symmetric face. Her partner was ordering a burger; they seemed happy enough on their tired consumptive Friday night daze. I tried to eke out some insights from their body language. It was clear, they liked to be in close physical proximity to one another, which was satisfying to see. In my opinion, there is nothing worse than a couple miles apart from each other. When you see such a couple the end is near. I forgot about the couple and went on. I was grateful to have avoided the Kisoki the couple had chosen; vegetarian burgers, are worse than awful; although, I applaud the ethical position. I still remember chomping into a vegan burger, whilst in Wellington, and experiencing instant heartbreak and dismay as the whole thing tasted like a ghastly homogenised mush.
Within this man-made consumerist hellhole, I quickly found my hands full of things I only half desired; I had unwittingly ordered, against my better judgement, a chicken hotdog with pickles and two slices of cheese. It was enjoyable but deeply unsatisfying. Thankfully, I adored seeing my friends, as exhausted as I was. To tell the truth, I didn’t mind going to such a strange and sinister upmarket food court, despite, how horrendously bizarre a place it was. The place made my skin crawl, it felt like I had witnessed something crude and grotesque. I still feel like I need a shower to wash off the bizarreness, the longing, the craving, the desperation of such a hollow and insatiable realm. Visiting the food court was like entering my own stomach, a disgusting, novel and wholly inappropriate experience, the terrifying part is I am unsure when I will visit next, and whether I have much say in the matter.
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