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Tom Thomson turns up at garage sale
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Found
- Hits: 1624
The headline describes it all.
Link to Herald Article: http://www.calgaryherald.com/entertainment/Thomson+have+sold+yard+sale/6459387/story.html
Link - Wiki on Tom Thomson: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Thomson
Dublin & Africa
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Conversations
- Hits: 1447
Later in the evening, when most of the running around is done and tables are finishing up and leaving, I find myself engaged in a conversation with a table.
I never engage my tables in conversation.
It's a rule, my views and opinions are generally so contrary to the norm here that to even slightly allow them voice is to open a world of trouble. Don't argue with the customers. But they're young and they've had some wine and are looking for the distraction of someone elses conversation and they open up to me that it's the first night out for them since returning from abroad.
"Really? Where?" I inquire. It's expected.
He, from Dublin where he celebrated St. Patrick's day. A good party I presume, he confirms it.
She, from Africa, where she worked at an Orphanage.
He introduces her as his girlfriend, I'm not interested but note his slight possessiveness.
I'm interrupted. There are no tables, so to speak of, but I'm called upon again and again to run errands, sort out bills, the things all of us should be able to do as equals, but some of us are more equal than others...
Back at the table, their names. I hate names, I have no memory for names, I only remember those I dislike. Z, he gets everybody's name, the name of their children, grandchildren, parents, he loves that stuff. I hate it.
I remark upon the diverse destinations they've been to - incongruent, his adventures are light, hers more interesting, emotionally engaging. I ask why not together, why this separation, odd, he defends himself, feels, though he's in his early thirties, that he's not ready to see that sort of suffering...maybe when he's in his forties...
Pleasant, but a child. And while I have no interest I have to wonder how she ended up with him.
A craving for chocolate
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1566
(dream had a few days ago, odd, disturbing after it's fashion, still recall the details days later so writing it down...)
I've a craving for chocolate. A 3/4 eaten bearspaw on a plate, Carmel leaking from it's undevoured quarter, I'm heading out looking for some fudge...
There's a mall with a chocolate shop in it down the street, I walk towards it (in the dream this is somewhere west of 17th Avenue/14 St in Calgary....), I find the mall, find the chocolate...
A diner. 50's, large, inside, looking for someone I know, a waitress recognizes me, says hi, some small favour I've done for her, trinket or some such, she's friendly, I can't remember her, she remembers me. At the bar, a big rocket, 50's all round, vintage period junk upon the walls, I don't know who I'm waiting for, why precisely I'm here, only I've been here before, waiting...
...
IN a minivan with my father, he's driving, backing out of a parking lot. I'm in the second row of seats, perhaps 7 seats across, a jumbo-jet of minivans of sorts, the van is full, we're leaving the diner, beside me is an East Indian man, covered with open sores (leprosy?), he's seated upon a towel, upon the seat in front, anything he touches or breathes upon is covered in these green-red mucous balls, they're from his sores....
...beside us in the parking lot someone has cut us off, minor bump, their fault, my father ignores it, we've someplace to go, but a pugilist - shaven head, crooked nose guy is cycling after us, telling us he'll sue, other people are getting out of their cars and telling him he's crazy, it wasn't our fault, they knock him from his bike....
I get out and go up to him, he's seated where he was knocked from his bike, I'm pissed off. I kick him with my boots (soft rubber toe) - right in his crooked nose, he doesn't fall back or pass out or bleed, just looks confused...I am as well, I expected more than this...
...back into the van, beside the East Indian with the mucous balls all over the seat in front of him, his bleeding open sores, the seat he's seated upon, green and red, and we're off...
A, Gossip, Busy
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1911
The weekend, surprisingly busy.
And late.
The owner, pissed off at A for not returning his call, (Having called her about something so trivial he's already forgotten) has ignored her the past 4, 5 weekends she's worked. They're both pissed off at each other. Last night (Friday) he insisted she be called and told not to work, it wasn't so busy...
It wasn't, but later on, as the day progressed, after the call was made, it was.
She was surprised. For someone who lamented every second being there - understandably, now she's surprised at this unexpected day off. She's suspicious. Far slower nights we've had her in to pacify the owner, now a night off, she's suspicious of the Axe.
The night, busy, the nephew a poor substitute as Expeditor, requiring, insisting upon no assistance, but the food is carried poorly, single plates at a time, cutlery, pepper & other essentials forgotten.
She's sorely missed. A small contribution, true, but noticeable, the nephew's not an adequate replacement.
***
A table - older people, one of whom, I notice, sports a monocle. I profess my admiration, it's an interesting thing, a cool thing, he wears it well. I want one.
He offers it to me, will take my details, leave it to me in his will. I'm not that patient.
We jest, he's 78, it turns out, a bit of a wag, a sport, sense of humor. It's nice.
***
Saturday, A is in. Not called & told otherwise she's just shown up. Queried about her day off - unexpected - she's bitter. She doesn't see it as the day off she's long pined for, requested, wanted, rather as an outright declaration of war between her and the owner. Which it is, but it's the other things as well.
She's not seeing it that way.
She won't expedite the food, the Nephew can, she'll help out in the dining room.
It's ridiculously busy, late, the evening runs late, by the end we've gone our separate ways, by the end I'm on my own at the local to give best wishes to the manager, Pete, who's leaving, "Good Luck" I invite him to come along as my donkey to Alaska, the other staff - the staff at the restaurant I work in, couldn't be bothered, off to strip clubs and gay bars, they don't particularly care.
***
Now for Sunday, the day off, the week-end. I've not yet told the owner of my departure, don't know quite how to break it, don't think he'll take it well. And I'm uncertain, too, so much to be done, tools to be organized, other projects completed. 2 Weeks of work, 4 weeks until departure. I'll tell him Monday.
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