Restaurants and cafés reserve the right of admission. I am here today at this juncture to request nti please, help us, asst us, and reserve it a bit more please.
There is this restaurant I go to in Kisementi with that coffee must be what finally getting to tongue kiss Tiwa must be like. Sweet, powerful, invigorating.
And the service is so on point, the food is great, the parking is available… I pretty much live here now.
They don’t have WiFi but that’s okay. I do. I have airteylor swift, and as you can see from how filthy she is, she works hard. Have you ever seen a router so hardworking it has charcoal stains?
And it is quiet. There is no one presuming that we need music to relax us as customers. If it weren’t for the perfection of the coffee, this would be the restaurant’s best feature. This would be the Tiwa’s left titty, if you will.
Other restaurants, which play music, who told you. That is not a question.
- Restaurant playlists are ALWAYS wrong. Always. Kenny G should not be played in eating establishments because his music attracts flies. And broadcasting KFM presenters with their frrrr brrr grrr fake accents laughing at their own jokes is worse. Do you want me to eat or throw up? Schuped.
- Java House also you — you play Marvin, Miles, Nina Simone, Masekela… how am I supposed to concentrate on my work or my company when Nina Simone is singing? Nina Simone is not background music!
- Ngu relaxing music. Who told you we want to relax? Who orders espressos when they want to relax? Espresso soundtrack is NWA instrumentals, not Whitney Houston having nothing if she doesn’t have me. Sharrap.
- How often do you find a group of twenty people with the same taste in music? Scientific studies have shown that one in every seven people think Chris Brown has a rectum in the middle of his face and is farting out those songs. Only three out of any group of ten people can handle Both Bobi and Bebe. For the rest it’s chose one and don’t even hint at a molecule of the other. And nobody likes Judy Boucher any more. All her fans are dead.
- Supply us with seating, toothpicks, aircon, toilet paper, and free WiFi. That’s fine. Leave the music to us.We all own headphones.
- Can you imagine trying to write a poem about fighting the scourge of human trafficking while Will Smith is telling you to get Jiggy With It? How are our poets going to get any work done?
- Can you imagine trying to work an excel spreadsheet accounts file to conceal your COO’s bribes and money laundering while Bob Marley is singing Redemption Song? Pity out accounts!
- Can you imagine being on a date trying to cheat on your guspouse while Luther Vandross is singing Endless Love with Mariah? How will that work?
- Can you imagine eating while PitBull is in your head?
So anyway, this post is supposed to be about something else. I was getting lost.
This restaurant is perfect. Except for one small thing.
The exterior area, the patio is what posher places call such arrangements, but here I think we call it embalaza. Is the smoking section.
Yeah. It has a smoking section where people smoke.
And the smoking area is the most comfortable, most ambient part. It is cosy and breezy and nice.
And most of the regulars sit out here.
Until this new guy showed up.
Now we know one thing about people who smoke in public. It’s an asshole thing to do, but I won’t judge for now. I was once, myself, entangled in the ruthless grip of nicotine addiction and I know how it works… you find ways of convincing yourself that it’s not that bad, that it’s only one, that if I blow upwards they won’t smell it… you are like Trump voters except ruining your health instead of the integrity of liberal democracy.
Chain smoking in public however? That’s a whole different sachet of sewage.
So this new guy comes in. Four days in a row he has been here every afternoon. He comes in, orders beers and chain smokes for hours.
And he looks like the sort of person who would do that. A defiantly forlorn face, like a bag of fat decorated with beard and eyes drooping off at odd angles. Not even resting bitch face. It is the face that got bitched at so much that it gave up and just allowed. He has the expression of one who is perpetually saying, “Aate now what could I do?”
Life has beaten the fight out of him.
Now he has no choice but to sit and chain smoke for us.
Man, I’m not Bikozulu. I’m don’t know if I can get away with a post above 700 words so let me close.
Restaurants please asst us and hellep us and reserve right of admission ton this guy. Let him to to chain smoke in the gutter like his fellow hobos.
Otherwise no matter how good your restaurant is, I will have to end up going back to working in office.
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