Angelburger: A Meditation

It's not the portrait that got me. I expected that. The most normal thing about the place, in hindsight. What got me was the smile - not on the portrait, but on the waitress.

Back up a few months. When I haul freight, I take my time. When I take my time, I catch up with friends at stops. The cargo can wait - friends you have to catch when you can. The one I met was an old flight buddy, name of Leo. We were both antsy over some damn war or another, so we both wanted to talk about anything else at all.

So he tells me there's this place back in Heverty - I don't go much, it's a bit out of the way - a themed joint, owned and operated by Aisling's Angels, licensed by Heverty. Supposed to be pretty popular. I don't keep up with the feeds, so I never really saw the point of Duval. (Sorry Leo.) All the royals kind of blend in with each other in my head and I can't keep them apart, no matter how much they're supposed to hate each other. Doesn't help that her name's basically the exact same as the Emperor's, just a bit shorter.

But anyway - themed joint. I like those. The food tends to be good, I think kind of as an apology. I tell Leo I'll give it a shot.

Back to yesterday. So I land at Woodroffe, I check in, they sort out all my papers. It's all cool, they're communists, they're CI, but the customs people still wear the damn Imperial uniforms and it gives me the fucking creeps. Not the guy's fault, he was nice enough. And I ask about the place because I realize Leo's directions were kind of shit, and he gives me a look - startled? Wary. And he smiles politely and gives me better directions, and I can tell he has a question but he doesn't ask. I thank him. As much for not asking as for the directions. I don't know what that question made him think about me. Superfan? Dedicated hater? Whichever he thought I was, I don't think he liked it much, so I'm glad he let it pass.

So then I walk into the place. And they frame the doorway so you walk in and there's this gigantic fucking, I don't know, ten meter portrait on the back wall, and it's her, obviously. Smiling, tasteful cleavage, the works. But then I look around and, oh fuck, everyone's in the outfit, like from the picture. Guys included, which is nice I guess? Not my thing but I'm sure someone appreciates it. So that throws me off a little, but like, sure. It's a theme. It works. They seem to be having fun, for what it's worth, which is a note in the place's favor. You'd think the communism thing would mean that anything as involved as this would be a labor of love - but I gotta tell you, I've been some places where I seriously wanted to take people aside, and ask them to blink twice if someone was in the rafters with a gun, forcing them to do this. Not here. We're good so far.

So they sit me down and I spend a few minutes looking at the menu. It's a good menu, well-designed, clear font, multilingual without being cluttered, which is tough. The general impression I'm getting is 'polished' - which does worry me a bit. Sometimes that means they don't feel the need to apologize by making the food good. The flight here took 6 hours, so I'm pretty hungry. I try not to do reviews unless I'm pretty hungry to start with - gives places a fair shake if it's not something I'd normally like.

So the waitress comes up to me, and asks for my drink order, and flashes the smile, and here's where it all starts to go wrong - because it's the same smile. I can turn a little to my right and see it overhead. It's not just similar it's the same.

She practiced this. My god, she must have practiced it a lot. I don't know if it's worse if it was in front of a mirror, or if that's just how the social feeds work if you're in that scene. And I start to look around and it's not just her. This is everyone. And what's worse to me is that it doesn't feel forced. The kindness behind it is real, but it's not their kindness. They're projecting the image of her kindness, her charity and pleasant affable nature.

I want to be clear - this is not a complaint about their committment to the bit. I will always, always respect committment to the bit, regardless of whether I like the bit. The problem for me is that, communist or no - it's a branding thing. They're not selling burgers to Aisling fans. They're selling Aisling to burgers fans.

I try to gently steer the waitress off-script whenever she comes back to refill my drink. Not to hit on her, mind - I do this most places 'cause it helps show how people get treated, and if I'm lucky, what they actually think of the food. And I can't get it to stick. Usually this mean's the manager's a tyrant, but here, I don't think so, actually. The problem was that the conversation kept organically coming back around to Aisling and her charity work. Not even in a preachy or overbearing way, she was very light about the whole thing and how silly it was. The problem is, I could tell by the light in her eyes she meant every word.

I try to remember the philosopher who wrote about this kind of thing. Not Deleuze, not Foucault. One of those French guys. Something about simulacra, about copies of things that are supposed to exist, and then copies of things that actually don't have any original to them. Not like, they weren't copied right, but that what they're copying never existed, except as a copy of itself.

And I look down and I've finished the burger. I cannot remember what it tasted like. It can't have been bad, because I'd remember if it were bad. I'm certainly no longer hungry. But I don't feel like I'm the one who ate it.

Aisling smiles down at me, gently. I settle my credit tally, and I leave. I get the feeling I get sometimes, when I'm home free, but just barely. Which is nonsense, of course. But it's there.

Somewhere out there in a galaxy is a real, human person named Aisling Duval. This article isn't about her, and it's not about the people she's helped either. I don't have a problem with either of those. The problem is I think exactly that whatever's there - it's not really her, and it's not really a representation of her. She's not really anything, not even a picture of a pretty lady, or a pretty lady dressed like a picture of a pretty lady - it's a nothing there. And it gives me the feeling, right or wrong, that it'll completely consume me if I let it.

I can't give an unbiased review of Angelburger. I'm sure many people eat there and go on to live normal lives. But myself - all I can think about is how Aisling Duval, or something with her name, stole my burger. And I'm glad that's all she took.

-Kiris Halley