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Big Talker at 7-11
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1464
And I've piled the laundry on the bed and head down to 7/11. I need a slurpee, some cigarettes, maybe (although I'm not consciously thinking it, if I did I wouldn't go) a bite to eat.
And there's Big Talker, working behind the counter, he's got his "I'm a Trainee" badge on and I'm surprised to see him there, but only for a moment, it makes sense, probably his son got tired of paying the rent and made him get a job and I notice, only for a moment, a slight glimmer of schadenfreude; how the mighty are laid low, but there's some conscious wrestling as I'm paying, he's messing up big time, can't ring in my cigarettes, food properly, he's given me the incorrect change and I begin to feel wretched - ashamed that in any way I should take pleasure in another's misfortune, ashamed because in a couple of short months that could be, may well be, probably will be me, ashamed because while I've overheard all the talk of the big deals going down, (rather sceptically), he's done nothing to hurt or offend me, and I just want to hurry and pay and get out of there...
The Laundromat
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1981
It's a heavy sack of laundry, but I haven't done it for a month and it's not that heavy, considering...
Another beautiful day, walking across Crowfoot with the sack over my shoulder like a common tramp or hobo, the resemblance doesn't end there....
Crowfoot trail, sticky fresh tar and asphalt, the visible proof of that late night music I've been hearing these last few days, just past Amato Gelato and there's the laundromat.
It's clean, cool, bright and fresh inside, and the cost of doing laundry is surprisingly inexpensive. I put in my washing and wait, I've brought a new book: "The Hours" by Michael Cunningham, contemporary literature, while my preference is for the classics I should keep track of, know what the current themes in literature are. And it's a short read, large print, spacious lines, and I've done 70 pages by the time the laundry's finished. I like this laundromat, there are no distractions, simply sit and read, the sun through the window, it's cool inside, there's violin music playing through the stereo and it's improved, somehow, by the background accompaniment of washers and tumble driers. I'm sad to leave, I'll have to come here again.
5 days and counting
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1684
It's the countdown.
Last night late at the restaurant, we leave at midnight, long after the last bus has left. This will be what it's like in September, and more and more as Christmas draws near but I can console myself, I won't be there.
Today, up at 8:00 AM, work to do on the computer, a couple of hours and I send off the changes, the rest of the day is now mine.
Blog a bit, head off to thrift shop. Nothing today. But on the walk home I stumble across an estate sale and pick up 10 white shirts, suitable for 4 weeks of waitering, for $10.00. Not so bad. Then home and nap.
Up at 6:00 PM, I need to do laundry but there's a problem with the machine, sewage has backed up into the laundry room and so this will have to be done tomorrow at the laundromat. I haven't done laundry for a month.
Then down to Kensington for dinner, they're wrapping up the "Salsa Festival", packing stalls, I settle on a Sub for dinner (better than 7/11) and go over to Higher Ground for a coffee. I need to escape the heat, it's too hot, crossing the bridge from South Calgary you can see dozens of people in dinghies, weekend Huck Finns cooling themselves in the river, I've no dinghy and seek shade.
I read the papers. FFWD, The Globe, Calgary Herald, Avenue Magazine. I never read print anymore, books, but seldom, when is there time? It's all rubbish. Avenue especially impresses me with it's ridiculously positive take on everything, glossy photos and charming non-stories on local people and businesses, it's designed to offend no one and yet still in the letter section there are notes from things people have taken offense to.
Walk home, read the flyers on the pillars scattered about Kensington, there's a play by David Mamet I'd like to see at the upcoming fringe festival - "Sexual Perversity in Chicago" - I like perversity, I like Mamet, I haven't been to Chicago but if it's got Mamet and Sexual Perversity it can't be so bad...but I'll be away on vacation.
Home, another blog post, then down to my bench by the river, watching the river, the dinghies, the sun slowly setting, it's a beautiful evening and cooling off wonderfully, make my notes but I'm a little bereft of ideas at the moment, there's 5 days left of work and much to be done before the vacation - and there's 5 days of work left to survive. Lists, need to make dentist's appointment before I leave, see dentist 1st thing when I get back. Need to work on my resume, job search, there are a hundred plans to be laid and everything is hinging on surviving work, surviving the vacation, surviving work again (but only 3 weeks worth), and then....
Passing through a cave in Yosemite
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1287
I'm on vacation, I don't know where, somewhere mountainous, perhaps Yellowstone or Yosemite.
I wonder where the kids are, they should be with me, it's vacation after all, but the thought is only fleeting.
Walking along the winding highway through the mountains and I cross a ridge and there is below me a large shadow, cast by the mountain, and everything within it is covered with snow, there's a huge lake at the bottom of the valley and I can see that it's frozen...there's a road that winds along the bottom of the valley, through the snow, along the side of the lake, and I decide to walk along it in the shadow, it will be a welcome relief after the heat...
There's a warden giving out directions, people are in awe of this winter scene in the midst of a summer landscape, one person in a car is wondering if this new road along the lake will mess up his directions and the warden explains, a lady says "So that's what the brown spot on the mountain was" and she means the shadow cast by the mountain, the frozen valley, and when she mentions it I too have a brief memory of seeing the brown spot on the mountains...
I follow the road, towards the bottom I pass the mouth of a cave, it's shaped a like a {|, only on it's side, and the ceiling is low and I can see just beyond the ceiling the legs of some tourist sitting in an inner chamber. I haven't a flashlight but I decide to do a quick reconnaissance for the kids, see if it's worth coming back and exploring, and I duck into the first chamber and can see light at the other end, there's a stairwell with people coming down and as I approach I see her, and she gives me that smile, that morally superior "I know what you've been up to" smile, and she doesn't, doesn't at all, and it occurs to me that she must be on vacation as well, and as I pass her she stops me to ask if I want to go for coffee.
"No" I say, and exit the cave through the stairs on the other end.
When I'm out of the cave I'm in sunlight again, a busy street in some sort of mountain resort town filled with kitsch souvenir shops and I wonder if I shouldn't have went for coffee.
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