There’s a voucher in the bottom of my bag for Gochi. It’s from one of those discount websites – Groupon, LivingSocial, Sucker4 dealz, I subscribe to all of them. I have an e-stack of vouchers waiting to be printed off, and used before they expire. The Gochi voucher runs out soon. I don’t imagine I’ll be using it.
In fairness, it’s not the most useless web deal I’ve ever bought. That trophy goes to a box of hair boostias – hard plastic scaffolding you lodge into the crown of your head and cover with hair in order to achieve “ultimate lift and volume”. The aim: Joan Holloway. The outcome: Prymaat Conehead.
Bad as the boostias are, the Last Will & Testament I purchased a fortnight ago could gazump them. Will it stand up in court? For €10 – who cares?
One click and I am intestate no more. My family won’t be torn asunder, squabbling over my unexpired vouchers: eye-brow threading, handyman services, fish pedicures, Bikram yoga, driving lessons . . .
“I thought she passed her driving test?”
“She did, she bought vouchers for anyone who hadn’t. She was a discount addict. Tragic.”
They’ll have to kill me before May 24 if they want to redeem the voucher that was burning a hole in my fake Chloé tote, the day I went to Gochi with Ui Rathaile. We arrived just after 5 o’clock and it had the look of a place getting ready to shut up shop. That was fine, we were going to the cinema, and didn’t have time to dally. Ui Rathaile bought tickets to a film I knew nothing about, and I was bringing him to a restaurant that he knew nothing about.
He looked around Gochi for clues. The décor gives little away. Bentwood chairs, grey walls, copper pendant lamps, apple boxes recycled as wall shelves. The music? Barbara Padron Hernandez purring “touch me” in Spanish to the beat of Stuttgard-based DJ collective Dublex Inc.
The waitresses: all young, blonde and European. The girl serving us was Irish. Ui Rathaile tapped her for more info. We used to be called Sushi King, she told him, letting the Katsu out of the bag.