Brunch, Ritz Carlton Jakarta
Sunday, 5 September 2010
We arrive at the front gate and our taxi is stopped by the security checkpoint.
A German shepherd pokes his head into the back seat and gives me a little sniff.
´Nothing to see here, Rex´ I assure him and reach for a pat. He ignores my hand and I withdraw it with a ´Fuck you too, Rex´ in a cowardly mumble.
Thin men in dark blue uniforms inspect the car. Under the bonnet, in the boot, up the exhaust and even using mirrors on long sticks to hunt around the bottom – playing out their sexual fantasies in metaphor while circumventing Indonesia's strict anti-pornography laws.
´Nothing to see here, Rex´ I assure him and reach for a pat. He ignores my hand and I withdraw it with a ´Fuck you too, Rex´ in a cowardly mumble.
We pass through yet more security at the front door and I mumble ´too little, too late´ so quietly that even I can hardly hear it.
We walk inside and are greeted by the restaurant hostess. She is nicely dressed in a well-tailored jacket and crisply-pleated skirt. Her hair is neatly pulled back and she resembles an ad on a billboard.
To her left is someone in a large white bunny suit. It's a little late for Easter but I still look around for eggs because in Indonesia all religions are ripe for a local interpretation.
To her left is someone in a large white bunny suit. It's a little late for Easter but I still look around for eggs because in Indonesia all religions are ripe for a local interpretation.
The bunny suit is threadbare but clean; the result of a lifetime of being tossed into the washing machine by careless laundry ladies. Maybe the Ritz laundry is like a scene from Prisoner Cell Block H, where several bunny suits are imprisoned in muted lighting and occasionally molested by the prison lesbian hegemony. Washing machines hum in the background and a Ritz logo is on full display (product placement).
The suit is baggy around the arse and seems uncomfortable to wear, giving Bunny the vibe of an infant whose lazy parents have forced him to keep wearing diapers long past a dignified age. 'Just go in your nappy!' they hiss at his teary face before turning back to hunt for discounted diapers in aisle 7.
The Ritz hostess steps forward to show us to our table. As we pass Bunny I give him a sympathetic nod and I notice a slight flinch under his malting shoulders. Waves of hostility emanate from the suit.
We sit down to an enormous buffet of unlimited food and booze.
About an hour later I notice Bunny wandering aimlessly around the restaurant tables. Most of them are empty due to Ramadhan fasting. He appears disoriented and I assume he is very hot in that suit. Or hungry. Or drunk.
As the meal progresses, a second, furrier animal arrives on the scene. I suggest we call him ´Bunny 2´ but my brunch companions insist that he is a lion cub so we settle on ´Gladys´. Our lengthy argument (bunny vs cub) is a sure sign that we've already drunk too much; or not enough. Gladys seems less hostile than Bunny. Maybe she is more drunk, or more sober.
One of the tables which is hosting a children's birthday and a cake arrives. Singing starts. Bunny and Gladys reluctantly veer towards the relevant table and, on arrival, make no effort to engage with or entertain anyone. They seem to be happier to stumble around the edges and bump into chairs, startling the occasional child.
It all feels like a cheap version of Disneyland, where cost cutting has reduced the quality of costumes and reduced training.
Gladys makes a break from the kids and approaches our table.
I start to film her and the waiter decides that enough is enough and the last 2 seconds are priceless.
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