Cast down in the dumps by the fact that the long holiday is finally over, you pick what’s left of the festive season stash to treat yourself to what you hope to be a really good meal. Remembering that this Cafe Javas restaurant you always walk past on your way home finally opened, you decide to check it out and perhaps take a few photos of yourself at the scene before the buzz becomes stale. However, to make every second of the last day of holiday count, you think it best to take the meal home.
As you enter, this pretty waitress welcomes you with a lovely but feigned smile. You know it can’t be real because you’ve never met her before so there’s absolutely no reason why she should be as jolly as a returning soldier’s wife.
After you’ve made yourself comfortable in the beautiful couch at the balcony that overlooks the road, she follows you to hand you the menu and kindly offers to help you choose a dish. But because you know exactly what you came for, you smile and ask for a second to make up your mind.
Flipping straight to burgers section, you peruse it back and forth in a vain search for your traditional burger; at which point you beckon the young lady.
“Excuse me, are bacon cheese burgers on a different menu?”
“No, sorry; we don’t have bacon dished” she simpers.
“But if I may recommend, you should try our vegetarian burger.” She offers, “It’s made of crumb fried vegetable pattie with tomatoes, lettuce, onions and chili mayo. I’m sure you’ll love it” and then she wears her phony smile again.
Da fuck! Where is the bacon in that? You explode silently. Me I came here for a bacon cheese burger, the one I eat every time I get paid, who spends 17,000 on tomatoes and onions anyway? I should have known better than to come to a Muslim owned restaurant. But thinking that walking out at this point would be kind of rude; you decide to go for the next best alternative.
“This barbeque burger, how good is it?”
“Oh, that’s another nice one; you can choose either the grilled beef or chicken pattie, finished in a tangy barbeque sauce”
“I think I’ll have chicken, double.” You order. “It’s to go, please”
“Would you like anything to drink in the meantime?”
“Hmm…” You pretend to be thinking about it, as if you didn’t know that you only came with 20,000 and the meal you’ve just ordered is 19,500. “…I’m fine, just get me that”
Ten minutes later, after you’ve taken photos of yourself and updated your location on facebook; you get notified that your order is ready for pickup at the counter. But when you look at the receipt you’ve been issued, it’s indicating 17,500 and the lady behind the counter actually hands you back change for 2,500.
You’re tempted to pick all the money, grab your pack and go celebrate your blessing in disguise. But the seasonal puritan in you gets the best of you and you take the opportunity to learn how to tip instead. Picking the 1,000 note off the counter, you slide the coins in the directions of the kind young lady who has mastered the skill of faking a smile in a way that it seems perfectly natural. And then use the 1 bob note to take a boda home where you plan to enjoy your meal lounging on your bed as you watch the new season of Big Bang Theory you just got.
You get to the kitchen, serve the food that has cost you your average weekly expenditure on lunch, and this is what what you get.
Ok, at least now you realize that what you thought was a blessing in disguise was nothing like it, the smiley bitch messed up your order to give you a single not the double bugger you ordered for, which worked to her advantage. But then you think to yourself;
Javas, what the fuck sincerely? for 17,500 I don’t deserve any salads? Does my food have to look like I just grabbed it off a roadside burger stand? I’m not even worthy of ketchup but the lousiest quality of tomato sauce on the Ugandan market?
If only I’d walked a few meters across, i would be enjoying my traditional bacon cheese burger (with ketchup even and salads) at Endiro Coffee for only 18,000. And now I have to wait for the next salary before I can eat a real burger. 😦