Went to this really nice steakhouse in Toronto last night. It was one of those places that has really big square counters with high chairs all around it, and in the centre of the table was a flat grill where this amazingly talented Japanese chef made your food. Due to the set-up, I ended up sitting near a group of eight business men who were trying desperately to use their chop sticks and not look inauthentic. Being the person I am, I could not not help but listen in on their conversation from time to time. It was so Patrick Batemen-esque. Talking about their business card designs, joking about their presentation tomorrow, and trying to one-up each other by naming the best Steakhouses they have been too. One yuppie even referenced L.A., and proceeded to tell the others that L.A. is like Scarborough, except just bigger. Sitting inside this expensive restaurant, they talked about a waste land and laughed. It's only funny because they know they are going back to their wives and their picket-fences (probably commute to Mississauga). On the way out, it occured to me that the whole parking lot was full of Bentley's. Not only do they look the same and talk the same, but they spend the same. Monkey see, monkey do.
I guess I have read American Psycho too many times, but I realized that it's these fat-cats who I am terrified of, not crack-heads, or inner-city gangs. It's the people who look normal, who are absolutely fucked.
