P Borza

‘An alice in wonderland adventure’
–is how I describe this experience. Upon entrée into this sterile establishment, I was blinded by the torturous glare of the interrogative lights that beamed down from God’s angelic glowing ceiling. I felt as if the Italian fast food overlord was standing above me stealing my soul via heat rays. I was surprised to look down to a man i can only imagine is called Perky. «can I help you?» chirped Perky. «EmmBattered-​sausage-​bag-​o-​chips-​please-​no-​bullshit. and a soda (orange)». We waited an honest 8minutes for our fast food delights and paid an honest amount for them. Opening the door into their empty hospital ward seating area still dazzled by the Borza’s initial decontamination ritual, we blindly tucked into our meals.
Surprisingly enough, the chips were moist and fluffy on the inside with an oh-​so-​crispy exterior. «This!» –I thought quietly to myself, «is a fucking joke!» When I want chips of an ultra hygienic Mussolini standard, I will break both my legs and omit myself to St. James’ Hospital, but I doubt that I will do so anytime soon. Lets be honest here, when anyone goes to a ‘chip shop’, they expect a certain cultural taste of Italian life whether its the stench of old frying oil dripping from the godfather’s brow, or the greasy change the questionably skinny cashier slides across the table towards you with a broken smile.
Back into the ward, I pealed away the wrapping and nibbled away at my battered sausage. I glanced down at the light reading material left out for us on the table; ‘four found dead in basement’ the headline read, lovely. What ever happened to crayons and an image of a chicken to color in I ask?
After about 6 minutes, our meal was interrupted by another P. Borza pawn. «Excuse me! excuse me!, but emm we emm closed this door for a reason, emm IT’s ok it’s ok! emm you emm can still eat here but you must emm know in the future not to eat here when the door is closed»… I nearly vomited at this tired old babbling leather faced fool that waved his authoritarian balls in my garlic dip. How could she expect us to return in the again to this mental home. At the same time, our fallow protagonist; Perky’s haunting smile lingered around the corner while he menacingly counted the chicken nuggets through the window and Marlon Brando dropped sausages down the storage unit in a clumsy haze. Despite my uncomfortable urge to drain the old piss bag, I dared not fall any further down the plastic rabbit hole for fear of castration behind closed doors. I put on my shades and marched out the door, friends following suit. I give this dentist surgery 2stars, only because they sneakily sell Peroni beers after hours, and alcohol is my unfortunate addiction. Vincenzo’s Pizzeria is only a stones throw away and of far superior quality, price and atmosphere. Do not hesitate to walk a little further down Thomas street for maximum satisfaction.