Metro Cafe in the Octagon
1 rating since posting on Thursday, April 6, 2006
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in New Zealand
(submitted by
* A-Star *
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Overall Rating  based on 1 rating |
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Metro is located directly across the street from my sanctuary of beverage bliss, The Percolator. I like to peer at Metro from the sacred couch of The Perc, internally mocking all the fools who enter its hideous orange doorway. I am ashamed--ASHAMED!--to report that I myself have played the fool on no less than four blasphemous occasions. Read on... (1) January 2006: A bright-eyed, bushy-tailed newcomer to New Zealand, I march briskly into Metro in search of employment. Responding to an ad in the local newspaper, I cheerfully inform the manager that I have come to arrange an interview. I offer my crisp C.V. to her with an energetic thrust of the wrist, and await her response, which comes as somewhat of a shock: "The position has been filled." But the ad was in this morning's paper, I muse. Very odd. And there's a sign in the window that says "Help Wanted." I suspect that the manager is lying, though I cannot surmise why on earth she would do so. Hmmm...well, no matter. There are plenty of other establishments in Dunedin in need of my considerable talents! And off I went to continue my quest. Yet suspicious feelings towards Metro brewed within... (2) February 2006: After a particularly glum night at the casino (where I was ultimately forced to accept employment due to the incestuous hiring practices of Dunedin's cafe scene, which barred my entry despite admirable efforts), I needed a drink. Not wanting to deal with the boisterous meat-markets by the university campus, I decided to head somewhere quiet, dreary, and empty--Metro fit the bill nicely. I ordered a Kahlua cocktail. I was carded and charged $10. My weakass drink tasted like YooHoo, and did nothing to improve my dour mood. I left, afloat in a sea of self-loathing...actually, mostly Metro-loathing. (3) March 2006: I take my friend Vergilio out to the World Cinema Showcase for his 30th birthday. After the film, we require coffee to fuel our heated conversation. He doesn't want to go to Ra Bar, because he works there, or The Perc, because he used to work there, or Isis, because some unpleasant people from his current job are hanging out there. This leaves us with...Metro. He orders a flat white, I order a latte. Eons later, after we've had ample time to do a close formal analysis of every film ever made, our drinks arrive. His tastes burnt. Mine is weak and cold. Thanks for ruining V's birthday, Metro. What did you do--put out a fucking birthday candle in his coffee? (4) April 2006: Sometimes, we find it in our hearts to forgive. The film "Shakespeare Behind Bars" caused me to delve deeply into my soul and see if I, too, could redeem those who had wronged me in the past. I was hungry, and Metro came to mind. I consumed a thoroughly unremarkable cheese and onion sandwich, drank a lukewarm pale ale, and polished off a serving of potato wedges that could only be described as--potato-y. The men sitting adjacent to me discussed plane crashes. The couple to my left did not speak at all. I wondered if my mousy server was the one who took the position I had attempted to fill those many months ago? If so, good for him. I didn't want to work in this mediocre milieu. I didn't like Metro. I never had. Why was I still sitting there? Who am I? I left, and never looked back, because life is too short for job rejection and bad coffee. And yet, dear Metro...I forgive you. - * A-Star * , posted 04/06/06 |
