The story of Friday

Saturday, 01 April, Year 9 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

Friday has not only the honor of having being yesterday, but also the not inconsequential distinction of being the day I allocated to this particular kitten's introduction of girls she's met. In my household this is a thing. What follows is the story of that day.

Around 10:00 I called her to get the specifics. She explained we're meeting this girl with absolutely fabulous eyesi at the Taj Mahalii at 20:00. I pointed out that one girl's scarcely worth a Friday evening, eyes or no eyes, and bid her go forth and pick a coupla more. You know, off the street like that. In my household this is also a thing.iii

Around 15:00 she notified me of the revised schedule : we're meeting a local girl at 18:00 at the Prahaiv in Escazuv for drinks ; at 19:00 we're meeting a US import at the Centro for whatever concert in a small satellite town ; at 20:00 we're meeting the original Beautiful Eyes at... no wait for it... at... the Applebee in wherever.

"The what ?"
"It's like Denny's."
"In a food court ?!"
"I expect, it's some kind of mall."vi
"Da fuck."
"I dunno, she seemed petrified of going to restaurant."
"Heh."

At 17:54 the driver is asking local security folk for directions to the Praha itemvii. They point out that it's been closed for a while (but if we insist, go so and so and you'll see the metal blinds drawn where the place used to be). As you might well have expected. Kitten is chastised for not applying what she read on Trilema, because really now, this here thing is not for reading, it is for doing ; and driver gets tasked to "find me a fucking bar". Which he does, in the shape of a delightfully French bistro dubbed L'ile de France. Like so :

friday-1

Notably absent, Fernanda, which kitten had mispelled as Fernada, which turned out to be quite apt. At first she had inquired whether it'd be ok to bring her brother, sister and whoever else, in the terms of

Fernada: Voy con mi hermano, mi hermana, y un amigo pero nosotros tenemos dinero por tipo un trago o algo asi. Esta bien ?
Kitten: See you there!
Fernada: Ok see you. Do you understood my message?
Kitten: Sure.
Fernada: Are you agree?
Kitten: Yes.

We settled down to spritzingviii a very passible bottle of Cotes de Provence (Pasquier Desvignes)ix but by 18:38 the messaging had turned to

Ahorita llegamos, hay mucha presa!

Imagine this wonder! So she got told that next time she'd way the fuck better be an hour early and wait for us rather than an hour late, but in any case we're meeting other people and nevermind. This turn of events left her completely stranded, mentally, so she kept spamming various no longer relevant strings. Apparently it is somehow conceivable for local dork that I'll wait for her ; but utterly inconceivable, on her own mental steam, that she should wait for me. It just doesn't occur, that, and what do you mean think things through before you start ; in any case she'd never in the field encountered the situation where you're late and therefore uninvited. I guess that's why they call it experience, after all.

So at 18:49 we want the check and for them to call a cab, and off we go to check out this Centro whatever. It turns out a three level municipal building of some description (art school ?) wherein on the third floor a smallish room has insufficient seating for the population gathered to listen to, by 19:15, an old dork droning on, and on, and on. Why exactly do people think public speaking is a venue open to them ? This is almost never the case, snap out of it.

The US import we're supposed to meet is this bespectacled blondy with apparent brain parasitosisx. We basically ignore her, I send kitten to talk to this other chick, who looks almost ok except for the teeth (now how could you guess this at a distance!) She's a violin player, and speaks fine English like pretty much all middle-class kids here. She's not on the schedule, but her $relations are (I don't recall, a coupla people, brothers, whatever) and with that we take off.

At 19:59 we're sitting down in the Applebee's among intolerable scents of UStardian faux cooking. I don't know how extensive your experience with petrochemical plants is, but I assure you experience with UStardian "restaurant" chains can readily substitute.

Obviously absent, Jessica. Because why the fuck be there, right ? So we order cafe con leche, which in this part of the world is always a safe bet -- I've never had a bad one. Then again, we're not in this part of the world, we're in fucking Kansas City, Missouri, and what we get are two cups of immensely oversweetened Nescafe. Because why the fuck not use instant in the country that makes the world's best coffee. It says in the three ring binder you put one spoon of "freeze dried crystals" and two spoons of "sweetener", that's what you fucking do! Idiots.

Eventually girlie shows up, fifteen or so minutes later. It comes out through coversation that she's there with her grandparents, who are watching a movie. And therefore she can't leave. Because they expect her to be at the Applebee's. I ask her how old she is, she retorts that she's 18. I pass on pointing out that on the merit of her mental development she is not qualified to be 16 just yet ; but instead opt to state that she'll have to make a choice between her grandparents and eating at a nice restaurant. Has she ever been in a nice restaurant, I inquire ? She assures me that she has, and proceeds to call the abuelos in question, who evidently do not pick up. Because they're at the cinema, see, and the rule is to turn off the doohickeys at the cinema, and the fact that they have an 18 yo girl on an extremely short leash provides absolutely no exception to this. I imagine they make coffee in their spare time, out of a Folger's can bought during WW2.

But, she says, she's left them a message. Ok, so then we're good to go ? No, she says, she's not left them a message reading "my cunt itches, see you next week or something", she's left them a message saying to plox call her back. Which no doubt they will, just as soon as she's missed her chance. So I point out to her that in a decade or so she'll look back at this moment and not quite comprehend how she could've been just this fucking stupid, and off we go. The fact that her mother is also out, and the fact that her parents are separated does not produce any sort of ripple in the very smooth mind of this first year Medicine student with, allegedly, beautiful eyes. So we leave her behind to wallow in her idiocy until the grandparents fish her back out and wind once more the mechanism of stupid partasitizing her life.

The Indian food was just great, and that's it.

———
  1. I have nfi ; but she went on at length about how they're golden green with sparling stars and such. I am not kidding. []
  2. This is without much hesitation the best Indian restaurant I have personally been in.

    It has a proper nan oven (no kidding) ; peacocks roam the grounds (during the day, they're birds after all) and so following. I hadn't been there in a while, so not small was my excitement to find that the place still exists. The owner came to my table to bid me welcome! It's altogether unclear to me the fellow actually remembers me from ten - fifteen years ago or is merely being a good restaurant owner, but in any case, had a splendid time.

    I had pollo (chicken) y almendras (almonds) shorba which was fabulous though perhaps oversalted ; and cordero (lamb) cashew korma, which was excellent. The basmati is perfectly steamed (as opposed to cooked, yes ?), the garlic nan's to die for, there's half dozen various lassi-en to pick from and they're made with Costa Rica fruit... in short I love this place, and I am entirely satisfied to leave all my Indian food needs in their competent, able hands. []

  3. Can your girl pick up girls in the street ? No ? Why not ? []
  4. A supposedly great place she fished off the Google. []
  5. The pretentious district. []
  6. Turned out to be exactly a mall, rectangular structure with an open-air pit in the middle, traversable by cars. Rather standard fare, I guess. []
  7. Nothing in Costa Rica has a human address, like "the corner of Dicks st. and Vaginal ave." or "55th Dingleberry boulevard". No, no, none of that. Everything's instead "From this landmark go so and so North and then at so and so described landmark turn thus and therefore" and on it goes. As alf aptly put it, "brainmelting". []
  8. This just isn't done these days, outside of the tables of old people in the old царь-государь Empire. You're missing out. There's little better companion for a pleasant hour in the early evening spent in the clement climate of a place blessed with perpetual spring than decent wine mixed 1:1 with, in our case, San Pellegrino. Costa Rica has no mineral waters of its own, sadly. []
  9. It's a Grenache/Syrah rose which I understand to be rare in retail. []
  10. Do you know the psychotic misbehaviour in mentally ill females where they try to melt into the wall, not look at people, etc ? Calling it "wallflower syndrome" is much to cute for the monstrous vomit-inducing pathology involved, so I'm just going to admit the truth : they have worms in their brain, their mothers' crabs got in and ate most of the working cells. []
Category: Zsilnic
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  1. [...] dinner was the Indian place, because girl on escort duty really likes the food there ("It's my favourite restaurant in the [...]

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