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Visionaries

Up until Saturday, I have done most of my shopping in Sri Lanka at tiny little hole in the wall store fronts with a random collection of nick-knacks and whatever off-the-back-of-the-truck groceries they were able to scrounge up that week.  Up until last Saturday, I bought soda, bananas, crackers and curry from the same three mud brick shanties.  Up until last Saturday, I thought that those were my only shopping options on my new island home.

Then I went to the mall. Oh how my eyes have opened my friends!

I am a firm believer in the idea that if you have low expectations, you will only be pleasantly surprised by reality.  Thanks to what I had been told about the mall so far, my expectations were not exactly through the roof. Owing to a mild hangover on Saturday, I didn't really get rolling until the early afternoon so Supervisor tried to tell me that the mall was probably closed anyway.  I've learned that pretty much you never know when things are open or closed in this country, so I risked a tuk-tuk ride to nowhere and mounted up for the 40 minute trek to Majestic City shopping mall.

Aaaah Majestic City.  Even the name conjures fantastic images of shopping bliss.  Promenades of wonders the likes of which your Western eyes have never seen. Snake charmers fluting serpents from wicker baskets, sword jugglers cheating death as each arcing saber swings ever closer to their tanned bodies, and an Auntie Anne's pretzel shop! Ok fine, they didn't have any of those things.  What they did have were my only real requirements for a happy mall-going experience: cheap dvds, air conditioning and fast food.

As I ambled along the hallways of this most majestic of cities, I found myself wondering how anyone could hate on capitalism.  After a quick lap around the first floor, I noted the KFC by the exit and made my way into the first DVD store I could find.  The true purpose of my trip today was to score some cheap movies and televizzle seasons so I could stop relying on my spotty internet to deliver Frasier on YouTube in 5 minute increments.  For the first ten minutes, I merely surveyed the selection and tried to take stock of what I was up against.  "How much is this one," I asked as I held up Casablanca, a movie I've never seen but want to own for some reason.  "200 rupees."  Sweet, two bucks for Casablanca.  "How about this one," inquiring as to the cost of this classy looking yoga dvd. "200 rupees. Every movie is 200 rupees."  As I swallowed back an excited yelp, I decided it was time to stop playing coy with the shop keep and I went to town.  A feverish two minute smash and grab later, I ended up with 6 movies and a season of Castle.  Whatever man, I've come to terms with my man crush on Nathan Fillion.  More importantly, I scored Lottery Ticket starring Bow Wow and Ice Cube, which is now the crowning jewel of my black market collection.  I exited, hauling my wheelbarrow of new viewing material and continued to bathe in the filth of consumerism for a little longer.  Eventually I ran out of cash and figured it was time to pack it in for the day. 

Happier than a capitalist pig in shit, I could think of no better way to round out this delightful excursion than by swinging through the KFC for din din on the way out the door.  The plan was to get a Snacker and the Biriyani with fried chicken, a delightful East meets West platter with just enough saturated fat to lull me into a greasy slumber for the ride home.  Then I saw it...the most glorious sandwich that ere graced god's green earth...the ZINGER!  A fried chicken patty with spicy goo baked right into the goddam chicken. So what if it was twice as much as anything else on the menu, I had to have it.  Today I was a consumer, my consumption knew no limits.  "One ZINGER please!" I aggressively slapped down the 500 rupee note on the counter and awaited my feast, hands trembling in excitement.

What Counter Guy handed me though was anything less than glorious.  The fries were soggy and over salted.  The sandwich, virtually inedible. The chicken, ribboned with fat, could hardly be saved by the modicum of "spicy" sauce that resided mostly on the left hemisphere of the meat globe. As fist sized dollops of mayo fell out the back of the bun with each bite, sliding my already disappointing sandwich further towards the edge of the abyss, I pressed forward convinced that my reward was nothing short of mana from heaven. I was loving every disgusting bite.

The flat Sprite didn't stop me from loving it. The 35 year old man at the table next to me screaming at his mother for five minutes over their shared cup of ice cream didn't stop me from loving it. Even the one legged beggar outside who stared blankly in my general direction for my entire meal didn't stop me from loving it. I was in the mall baby, and I was feelin' good.

My meal was an atrocity and I dropped mad cash on movies and random housewares, but I think I have my room feeling a lot more like my room now. I got some new area rugs and a sweet pink yoga mat that I'm looking forward to not using as much as I mean to. Yup, I can sit back and watch movies and not work out again. Sri Lanka's starting to feel a lot more like home.