The Little Hut on George Street
1 rating since posting on Tuesday, April 4, 2006
|
in New Zealand
(submitted by
* A-Star *
)
|
Overall Rating  based on 1 rating |
|
|
|
|||
|
An awesomely funky rock-star chick with a lip ring and a hot girlfriend recommended The Little Hut to me awhile ago. She told me it was a good place to go if you wanted to avoid people. I had passed by it several times on my way to uni but had never gone in, assuming it was a rather uncool place that served low-quality instant cappuccinos and didn't always wipe down it's tables properly. As it turns out, my prejudices were absolutely correct...but, as the rock star's comment had hinted, it truly is the perfect place for hermit-like escapism and avoidance of people, which, let's face it--is EXACTLY what we need sometimes. The Little Hut is located beneath street level, tucked below the rambling commercialism of George Street. Once you've descended the cement staircase and passed through it's swinging double doors, you enter a decadent world of artificially-sweetened, machine-made, cocoa-style beverages, ultra-sweet cakes that are most definitely not baked fresh each morning, and a menu boasting a variety of fried meat and potato products, many of which are already sitting under heat lamps in a glass display case for your viewing pleasure. Absolutely no one of any consequence was there. I felt safe, like I had discovered a secret fortress of solitude. I ordered a "Mint Madness Moka" (or something to that effect) and a Karmel Krave slice (ditto). I grabbed a stack of trashy women's mags and situated myself in a dark corner lit only by an electric wall-sconce reminiscent of a medieval castle lamp, only much, much tackier. Enclosed by the hunter-green walls smattered with awful "artwork," I retreated...this was gonna be good... I surfaced for air about an hour later, noticing with some confusion that there was literally no one around. The fried foodstuff display cases were empty, the muzak had disappeared and there was not a minimum-wage slave in sight. Fearing that I had somehow been overlooked during lock-up and was now trapped inside TLH for the entire night, I leapt up to investigate. I found a stringy-haired lass wearing yellow cleaning gloves inside the kitchen. She explained that TLH was now closed but that I could leave "whenever." I took this as my exit cue, and departed, a little wistfully. Ascending the stairs back to street level was a bit like waking from a dream where you have sex with one of your closest platonic friends. You know the dream wasn't real, you know it was probably a bit naughty and the fact that you enjoyed it so much probably says something bad about your psyche, but you enjoyed it nevertheless and wonder if in some parallel universe it might actually become reality? But you shake off the dream with a little laugh and go on with your normal life...this is the essence of The Little Hut. I know what the rocker chick meant about avoiding people. At TLH, you can even avoid yourself. I'm not sure I'll ever return to TLH. Frankly, I'm worried that if I did, I might never return to street level. - * A-Star * , posted 04/04/06 |
