Closer and closer to the madding crowds

I have a strange relationship with Bourbon Cafe. On the one hand I do appreciate its ambience- the serene feeling when you are in there that you are being held by giant, soothing hands like the guys in the Will Self short story Sharing, Caring who live in a world where your every emotional need is taken care of by giant human-like robots. You can almost hear a brook running and birds twittering but not quite- this is Kigali after all, not a postcard jungle in Tibet. And to get a seat you pretty much have to hurt somebody else going for it- the place is in serious demand. What did Yogi Berra once say? "Nobody goes there anymore-it's too crowded." I think that's quite profound in its own way.
The first time I ate there, I liked the food. The burger was good, but it didnt start a revolution (Although to be fair, which burgers have?) The chips looked haunted and out of place but they were decent. It was a satisfying experience although that may have partly been due to the presence of my sister and a riotous cousin. I was however vigorously opposed to the idea of having a single muffin cost 800 Francs. What was that madness about? How can a muffin cost that much money? It's just wrong on so many levels.
And then I went back to use the internet which is when things kicked off. With my trusty work laptop, I sat there and tried vainly to connect to the net. I ordered a hot chocolate while I waited but I may as well have ordered from the spring of the fountain of life- an hour later there was still no connection. While I waited I realized how outnumbered the staff were- it was like the charge of the light brigade. I heard two white people complain that they had been waiting an hour, and I figured that if they couldnt get served then there was trouble indeed. They were woefully under-equipped for the volume of customers in there. I wouldnt have been too suprised if they had cowered behind the counter and waved white flags of surrender. Meanwhile the hot chocolate arrived and it was so delicious, my taste buds did a little sound-of-music rendition. I could have written a symphony about it-after all a Scottish composer once wrote a symphony based on the away goals rule after watching a Champions League football game involving Celtic. Something about being fascinated with misplaced energy.
After a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth- sackcloth and ash were too expensive- I finally logged on. Thirty minutes later it was off again. I wandered over to the counter and asked to be reconnected to the net.
"You need to order another drink" I was told
"But I've been online for less than thirty minutes" I wailed "And I'd been waiting for an hour" (I just about resisted the temptation to add "and you know this- MAN!")
"You need to buy another drink" He repeated robotically. I was almost afraid he would ask me if I was Sarah Connor.
"I bought a drink" I said through gritted teeth "And all I want is a few more minutes"
Guess what he said? Come on, just guess?
I wandered over shaking my head. Did time become distorted in this place? He was clearly in a completely different time dimension. MEanwhile I had been on ordinary time but was now trapped in Bourbon Standard Time. I looked at my watch and sure enough, it had frozen.
"I think we need to leave" I told my companion with growing panic. We stumbled out of there in a jiffy. The taste of hot chocolate and injustice was still strong on my tongue.