The Long Road to Amusement

There is an easier explanation to why someone would risk it all to hit the town. I mean driving at worrying speeds down a pitch-dark highway with colossal trucks and buses that put a brick on the accelerator and flash blinding high beams in your mirrors to overtake. Not that you have a clue when the asphalt suddenly turns to dirt road, a road block without any warnings suddenly comes up, or your tires fall in to a ditch. You just keep squinting into the darkness and drive.

It’s certainly not for the food. Everyone knows that your street’s corner restaurant tastes better. And that the presentation’s falling apart. And that you wait an hour and a half for your order to arrive, and another quarter for the rest of it. And it doesn’t really matter if you can actually gulp it down.

It may be for the ambience, that you’d like to believe exists. Because now you don’t have backrests, should you be one to prefer to sling back on a cushion of the charpai while having to stretch across a giant sized kitchen table to consume your meal. Not that it doesn’t have it merits – it makes the waiting so much more luxurious.

Obviously, it’s because of the driving need (and I mean literally) to go somewhere. Or be able to prove to your better half you’ve made the effort to go somewhere. Of course, if you managed your life effectively enough you could’ve booked a seat in the cinema two weeks ago to go to tonight’s show (and been heading the department you work in). Or you could’ve gone down to Zamzama and visited an increasingly popular (crowded and/ or expensive) grill/ cafe. But that doesn’t get more than three stars for effort. And that’s about all the ideas you can muster for a vanishing Sunday evening.