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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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There was, it should be noted, some attendant skepticism towards my story of lifting the school filled with children off of Little Timmy thereby saving his life.
This, however, should be laid to rest with the letter Little Timmy dropped off thanking me for my prowess. This I naturally posted in the staff area beside the schedule so all the new hires can appreciate my community involvement.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Saturday, busy all the day through. The whole restaurant; the back tied up by a party of (~50) that make themselves at home the entire day, coming and going, the front of the restaurant reserved for our regular customers. The party, locals, and largely bad tippers who've overcome their disdain of the place to celebrate ***** and not tip JR.
A long day of moving tables and setting up/taking down a party that was far, far more hassle then it was worth, but they knew that going in.
Then, 5:15, who should appear but Stephen the Writer, Stephen from Gastown, now from Creston, and it's good to see him.
Funny to say, but I'd been expecting him. I work at the Crossroads, I see everyone.
And so we catch up, best we can, I've a lot of other tables and the party in the back is making things troublesome.
It's good to see him and he's astonished by the "Coincidence" of our reacquaintance. I'm not so astonished.
He makes his ferry, the night proceeds, busy, a pair from Kaslo that are giving me updates on places to rent - and this is good, because - sooner or later I'm going to need a place to live (later I'm thinking...) but the first thing at the moment - the first thing - is to get the CRV back on the road in tip-top condition, and to pay down a few of the winter bills. Because there are a lot of bills...
...and then get back up the mountain...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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I've given each of them rides - S**- Never again, his smell lingered for days in the jeep.
It wasn't a good smell. He'd have been - I'd have guessed, early 40's, dirty, clothes never washed, dreadlocks. He professed to be a ladies man. His stink was just the nasty nasal embodiment of his appearance.
And B******, she was the clown with the axe I'd picked up one rainy day back in the years of the Volvo. In the years since she'd grown huge - always fat, now a morbidly-obese disabled sort-of-huge with a moustache and beard. And simple - unable to talk about anything of any import. I'd guess her to be in her 60's.
Anyways, S** and B***** had been seen together for a few years, hanging out, I'd wondered about it a bit, but you only let your imagination go so far and decided it was probably a matter of convenience for whatever social worker they had, perhaps they'd been housed together. It was inconceivable that anyone - even each other - could find either of them attractive or in any way passable. It was unlikely that it was even physically possible.
I was wrong, in the restaurant with friends (case workers?) on Sunday morning B* announces that it's their 5 year anniversary.
And S* - these past few years he's looking dozens of years older, maybe 50 going on 80, and if I thought about it I'd have more than a few questions but I'm not going to think about it, not for another moment...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Driving back from work, 9:00 PM, and someone flags me down - middle of the highway, orange safety vest, manically waving a flashlight. I pull over, Was there an accident?!! What's up!!!? Nope.
None of the above, it's Nick, from further up a road I used to live on in Balfour. Nick, brother of ..... son of ...., Nick, who used to work at the ... ... ...., Nick has to get to town, it's an emergency, just drive quick thank you very much. He lets himself in the car as soon as I pull over, no questions, it's a novel presumption this, that I'm somehow sharing his desperation, his mission, sense of urgency; that we can do this together...
The whole family from ..... road are wing-nuts, poorly socialized, inbred, they'd probably be diagnosed "Autistic" but - really, how could you, there's so much going on up there.
Nuts breeds nuts. So just drive and listen to Nick calm himself, he's saved, he's going to get to Nelson, he's 2 backpacks with him, he's got to see an old friend who's in town, up in Fairmount, I can drop him anywhere.
So we chat the rest of the drive, or rather, he largely chats and I listen, I've met almost everyone in the family, all of them nuts, bonkers, I've only not met the mother, probably because by some Hassidic tradition she's not allowed out of the house, (they're members of one of the many cults of "Kootenay Jews", which seem to only require "identifying with", and they're all allowed to get away with it because we don't have enough real Jews to protest. I'm not sure there are any Jews at all out here, because it's not polite to ask, it's a little challenging, and so you have to take everyone at their word.)
And come Nelson get him out of the car and he's all confused again, why would I want him out? But he's got to see his old friend, remember? And he's confused and blinking his light around my jeep to make sure he's not forgotten anything, and I'm wanting him out because there's something about crazy that I'm starting to lose patience with...
Find my parking spot down by the airport, usually quiet but tonight a group of high school students - 4 cars in total, have taken up drag racing on the strip. Now I know why the police are always down here, only they're not down here tonight - one of the kids must have a cop as a father....
In the morning, up, still sore in every limb, the hip-abductor, which has doubtless greatly improved my child-birthing skills has also greatly impeded my ability to walk, and while I should be going to the gym I'm instead sitting around and wondering if this can be postponed yet another day...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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At the fishbowl cafe, early, always, get warm, filled with other get-warmers, typically the homeless just setting out to kill an 18 hour day. Conversing with the young female baristas, at tones loud enough for the entire cafe to hear, about Dodge Trucks and how much gas they use and he'd never be able to pedal the gas for fear it would run out, and - you know, he'd never be able to pedal the gas because he'd never acquire a license to drive, never raise enough on the street to buy a truck, let alone the tank of gas, and so this conversation, entirely irrelevant, but the barista's bearing it with an admirable stoicism.
Next up is K***y, a wreck I see every day, gaunt, bearded, he travels all over town with his bags filled with (???), not unhoused, he's maybe in his 70's, severely disabled, but he's got the tricks, he stands beside me and shuffles the three dimes in his hand, trying to get together enough for a coffee, it's impossible, he knows, and so he rolls his eyes imploringly at me...
He'd done this to me yesterday, I'm an easy mark, clearly he is one of the least fortunate, least capable of Nelson's homeless contingent, and I don't even think he's homeless, he's got a place somewhere, institution, but he's capable enough he's given free reign over his days and spends them on the bus to Balfour or Nelson and all points in between....
Once he's secured funding for his coffee he begins in his halted, peculiar tones to discuss the impeachment of Trump, and I need really to find another café to warm up in these first few hours before the library opens...