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Contactors (finished)
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1456
Finally, notes left telling me they've gone down east (final cheque always used to get out of town, the mental image I have not at all surprising) - the job done, well, but not great, requests for revisions ignored (excuses, excuses, transparent...), the request for quotes on future projects postponed until they are less drunk or unavailable, 3 weeks total time but now I can move back in....
Calgary Impound Lot
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2303
Now G's had some bad luck last week, been pulled over, spot-checked, and the police officer smelled marijuana in the car and issued G a 24 hour suspension.
And G has it in his head that he wants his car back right away, can't wait, and so on the Friday afternoon he arranges for another waiter to stay late and replace me, I have to go with him and the nephew to the Calgary Impound Lot to retrieve his vehicle. The nephew drops us off, and I drive back in his car as he isn't yet able.
He's pissed off, understandably, and paranoid, he's worried about stuff in the car, he had some dope in the door and "money in the car", something me and the Nephew interpret to mean he's got thousands of dollars wrapped in saran and hidden under the dashboard or behind the door panels, but actually refers to the loose loonies and twonies he has for meters in the console.
The Calgary Impound Lot, it's a bleak place, a few acres of derelict cars, perhaps a dozen city employees (of pretty much every ethnicity but white, the city having gone overboard on it's quota's), and it becomes obvious pretty quick that this isn't a fast procedure. There's the waiting in line, the filing of paperwork, wait to be called, walked to the car to retrieve registration, insurance, walked back, more waiting to pay...
There's lots of time for G to chat, and he finds plenty of like-minded souls here, some attractive girls to chat up, another guy in on a 24 hour suspension for the smell of marijuana in his vehicle, they get to talking, G's worried about the pot in his vehicle, getting his registration he had done a quick check, it looked as if it was gone, guy hadn't even considered his dope but will check first thing when he gets his car back...
Eventually we're led on the final tour back to the car. It's shanty-shanty with these civic employees, there's no sense of urgency but plenty of uniforms and badges, for many a laid-back immigrant this must be the job wherein they discover they've died and gone to heaven.....
And leaving the lot, me driving, we're passed by guy, he rolls down his window and yells over at G from a cloud of smoke - "they didn't get mine...."
Mafia Boss and Lawyer
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Conversations
- Hits: 1518
The lunches and dinners have picked up, there's scarce an empty table most days in the restaurant. This doesn't stop people from attempting to just "drop by" in the hopes we'll accommodate them - frequently we do, we're good that way - tables set up in the front foyer, wine cupboard, beside the bathrooms and the bar...
It's Xmas, time to pack-em-in like sardines.
Mafia boss comes in with his lawyer, mafia boss in a long overcoat and overly dramatic dark glasses, no reservation, G finds room for him in the private room.
This disgruntles a regular who has a standing reservation for the Private Room, but he understands (begrudgingly) that over Christmas it's waived.
Mafia Boss, he's asking about the noise in the kitchen, the bosses curses and shouting, it's the boss isn't it? And I tell him that yes, indeed it is. Maybe then I want to go and tell him to shut-up? No, thank you, but he's more than welcome to if he'd like to, the door's right here and the boss, well, he values all of his patron's feedback.
Mafia boss looks at me. Maybe he's not used to being contradicted, or he detects the slight matter-of-fact insolence in my voice, the regular he's sharing the room leans forward "Ask him to shut-up after I get my meal please" and the mafia boss gets where this is going, laughs and makes a joke, tells me he likes my sense of humor. His lawyer, he looks good natured enough, but the look of good nature has frozen upon his face as he listens to the terrors in the kitchen.
Bringing his bill later the regular who's privacy was thwarted tells me "Whatever you make, it isn't enough....".
Lucid in London
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1866
I leave for the lunch shift today, they don't need me. So I go downstairs to sleep, I can't go home, there's contractors, there will be no sleep had there other than by them.... The owner's in a foul mood, it's cheque-writing day, and as I try to sleep I can hear all the goings on in the restaurant, the medley of banging pans and Italian curses, it's not the best place to nap, but somehow I manage it...
I'm in London, not London, walking the streets, making a map....
I realize I'm dreaming, this is Lucid, the sounds of the restaurant keep me from falling completely asleep...
I'm on an ancient cobbled street, fine, small row houses, grotesque gargoyles and ornaments, the mood is drear but there's a heightened sense of reality, every gargoyle is different, and as I'm making a map I note that this place hasn't changed, I must take the boy....
now it's a lucid dream and so I wake myself to make my notes.....
....and I'm unrolling a roll of rice paper-parchment, adorned with printed courtesans, I write upon the paper (yellow light), the ink bleeds into the paper, I return to the dream....
The same street I just left, the same as I left it, and I'm walking....a horologist, a bright tree in front, a stump, embellished with watch dials and crystals, broken wares advertising his trade, and I pull aside a crystal to check the dial, it looks like a good make even if it's broken...
Walking through London not London, making my map, there's a festival of sorts, it's evening, and I walk up, people, South American, this is different....
.....and I wake again, knowing this is a dream, make my notes upon parchment....
The din above is too much, and I awake from this again, perplexed, in the squalor of the restaurants basement, the lucidity was real, but the waking was into another dream...
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