Day 317
So, it is the early afternoon in the not so windy but definitely hot city. I haven't been awake for too long but have found a break to get in a few words. So far today a few events have occurred. Here they are:
Instead of going to the semi-expensive coffeeshop to eat breakfast burritos with the flamer owner who we love chatting with because he is a bitcher we decided on the cheap Swedish breakfast place. When we walked in to find the place was blue, very blue, and hot and one of the lights on the "chandelier" was a metal shop light. Every unoccupied table was dirty and the waitress was sweating, smiling, and pulling the cord of an ancient ceiling fan. In other words, it was perfect. We opted for a counter seat. The last time my friend and I had breakfast in a crappy diner at the counter we got into the biggest fight of our friendship but I didn't mention that.
The breakfast came with an unpronounceable meat. The meat was very pink and in little clumps like a sausage with the type of casing that you don't want to know the origin of. And, it was delicious. We ate at the counter that was made for shorter people like used to roam the earth when that place was built many decades ago. Across the counter from us was a wall covered in the lids of pots like they were valued pieces of art and a photo of three women who likely lived out their lives slinging the mystery meat and getting looked at by men with potato grease dripping from their fat, cracked lips. The breakfast was amazing and I could eat that unpronounceable meat all day long.
After the breakfast we went on a little walk and wound up at a thrift store that used to be a glorious theater. Inside we milled around looking at the couches, Southwestern-print, floral-print, and Country-print. Next we moved onto the clothes sections and looked at glassware and then at the exact same time we both dropped our mouths in shock, started laughing and walked toward the same object: a painting with a woman on a black background. The painting wasn't so bad until you got close enough to see that the wispy shocks of yellow paint on the bottom was actually a kindergarten scrawl that read, "Cyndi Lauper."
We laughed and laughed and eventually left. But, we didn't make it 10 feet from the shop before we charged back in to the soundtrack of The Pixies. A few years ago my friend and I had seen The Pixies together and he had gotten nearly kicked out for dancing. Anyway, we slapped down the 15 dollars and carried Cyndi out of there as ours, like anyone else would've bought it in the next few days, or years.
After that whole scene we brought Cyndi back to the apartment like a trophy, scaring my friend's boyfriend. I went off to the supermarket to buy bodywash and go to a bank machine and then off to a Payless to buy sandals. It was during these activities that I realized the main difference between Canada and the U.S., walking down the streets in Canada is for the most part like walking down Sesame Street. Everyone you meet is friendly and smiling. But here, its more like walking down the streets in the movie Gran Torino. When people ask me what my culture shocks were in moving to Canada I say that they were little tiny things. But what is funny is that nobody asks me what my culture shocks are in coming home.
So, last night I attempted to re-cap the events of my traveling in a short list that I was going to expand upon today. To be honest, I am not so good at looking back at yesterday both because I don't have the energy to recapture it and also because I am super forgetful. But here are a few juicy details I didn't include:
After my early morning wake up I went out to the curb to meet a middle-aged Persian cab driver. We pulled away and I told him where I was going and that I was catching a bus to get a plane (long story) and that I was in a rush. He then decided to take a side street with very few stops. He told me that everyone says he is the fastest and cheapest cab driver in the city. We whizzed by a forest on either side for quite awhile with him telling stories about how deer are spotted there. I wonder if he had any idea how long it would take him to stop going at that speed and I imagined us not only killing Bambi but, being killed by Bambi. When we finally got back into the city he kept up the speed, the van bouncing at every bump perhaps 30 seconds after we flew over it. Then we hit a red light and I looked over to spot an undercover cop in the next lane but, apparently my driver had already seen it as he was rehearsing a speech he would give them in the event of us getting pulled over. He didn't pull us over but the appearance of him led my cabbie to describe how he deals with cops and how they never ticket him despite him being pulled over all the time and breaking the law.
So, after I luckily survived the cab ride I waited for a bus that would bring me to an airport 3 hours away. When the coach pulled up a little man who looked like a slightly overgrown and older version of Santa's helpers popped out. As soon as I got back on the bus he popped it into gear and began singing, "Here we go into the wild blue yonder..." in the voice of Gene Wilder from Willy Wonka in the Chocolate Factory. He made other silly remarks about the chemical toilet and sang the whole trip. At one point I leaned over to a man who didn't look unlike Prince Charming and whispered about the bus driver, "He's a magical man. He agreed with me in the nod children use when they see something amazing and want to keep it a secret. When we got to our destination he gave the weather report and then noted, "I hope you all have SPF 30 and floppy hats."
When I got to the proper airport gate to my Midwest destination I noticed something. 2 out of every 3 people were fatties (myself included). Later, when we boarded I noticed that the airline must find this hilarious as all the fatties were seated together, including me and a woman whose ass should've paid for half of my seat. The skinnies were all sitting in the same rows, all sleeping soundly in their abundance of space and in the comfort of not touching a strangers thigh against your own for three and a half hours.
Tip of the Day: If there is a coffeeshop with the name of the city you are visiting stop there it is guaranteed to be interesting, even if it's in a horribly boring way.
-Canadian Castaway
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