Pasta Fiesta
A phrase we coined to "upsell" larger, obviously budget-minded parties that would invariably order pasta instead of entree's off the menu.
The humor in this relies largely on the fact that the owner of the restaurant breaks into loud song upon reading a bill of 10 entirely different pastas...the "Pasta Fiesta" song, not so charming if you speak Italian or English or are seated any where near the kitchen. But then perhaps it's only fair that you hear this...
"You Mother Fuckers...what are you trying to do? Kill me? Porco Dio! Porco Madonna!" ....and the lyrics vary after this....
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- Category: Miscellany
Bankview - From the Balcony
Bankview from my balcony. Every morning, 5:00, 6:00, 7:00 AM, the tribes of the Calgary homeless search the dumpster across the way for bottles. It's as if they have a schedule, know when the drunkards will be waking up and dumping the empties over the balcony, searching the dumpster, shopping carts, makeshift trailers on bicycles, garbage bags slung over shoulders, there's a rhythm.
And the dog walkers, mostly small, indoor, apartment-style dogs, teacups, a good looking couple chatting, her, small, fit, cute, him, larger, fit, handsome, their dogs exactly the same size, one a terrier, the other a pug, chatting, holding his dog, her dog back, they're trying to mount, obviously hitting it off, the couple, the owners, they're hitting it off as well but daren't be so forward...
And evening, the drunks on the way home from the bars on 17th, cabs, cars dropping off late night partiers, a couple of attractive girls making out in a vintage convertible, young, lipstick-lesbians, 1:00 AM, try not to look or stare, but one catches you looking anyways, stares back through the passenger window while her partner fumbles and gropes her...
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Excuses
And, having been away over a year, some customers are curious enough to ask what I've been up to.
"In jail for credit card fraud." I tell them. "I was taking customers credit card numbers and using them to buy stuff on eBay...selling them off to Russians..."
Some laugh. A very few. Others laugh, nervously. And a few, well, there's just a double take while I ask "How would you like to pay again?...".
I mix it up. Try new lines....like ..."They never found the body, so they had to release me....". Somehow they find this funnier. more acceptable...
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Death of a Volvo
Now this happened last year and it's taken me this long to write about. Not the pain, just my general lack of organizational skills.
One of those 40 below nights and I'm off driving my favorite car, a 1990 Sky Blue Volvo, 240 DL. You know what they look like, there's still a surprising number of them around. I had owned it for maybe 2 years, put on 130K+ km, sitting at a little above 300, 000 KM, this Volvo had a long life ahead of it. Or so I thought.
Driving, 40 below, and the car loses all power, a desperate rattling under the hood, the timing belt has gone. And it's a cold winters night, 40 below, and so I pull off at an exit (steering, no power), and manage to glide all the way into the Tim Hortons parking lot in Airdrie.
This is a miracle. Of all the places my car could have died, remote and distant roads, to die and glide into here, on this winteriest of nights, this is the favor of God bestowed upon his favorite chariot.
Not enough power to glide fully into a parking stall, my car is parallel to the drive through corridor, not ideal, but who's complaining? It's 40 below outside, I have too much to be grateful for...
I call the AMA. It's been a few years since I've used it, time to get my money's worth. And they assure me that they'll have it towed ("BERT AND JACKS!" I tell them, I'll tell you about Canadian Tire another time...), the weather, it's keeping them busy, they won't be there until after midnight.
Meanwhile I pop into Tim Horton's, apologize for my car, order a coffee, and explain to the clerk that my car is indisposed, it will be picked up and towed in the wee hours of the morning. The clerk nods and asks me if I'd like cream in my coffee. I explain again about the car, and the clerk smiles confusedly and points to the donuts. I ask to speak to the manager.
Patient, I'm nothing if not patient.
And I explain again that my car has died, inconveniently for them, in their parking lot, but it will be picked up by the AMA, wee hours, I won't be here, and I ask for a piece of paper so I can leave them my phone number. The manager, she doesn't speak English either. No one here does. Eventually she understands, or pretends to, and grabbing a piece of thermal fax paper pretends to write down my phone number. Except that I can see that it's thermal fax paper and the ink isn't sticking to it at all, but she smiles at me as if to say "look, I'm doing what you asked...." and I'm filled with despair, how many employees here, all Temporary Foreign Workers, and not a single one can speak English.
There's nothing more I can do, I return to Calgary by taxi and contemplate my next move.
The next day the AMA calls me to tell me they couldn't make it to the car on time, it's proximity to the drive through lane meant the RCMP called the only other towing company in town to have it removed. Not the AMA. You don't block a drive through donut window without paying the price, and although they could have driven around the Volvo in any number of ways the fact that was in the way of their midnight stampede for donuts, well, that was enough.
I go to get the car released, $200, another $200 to have it towed to Bert and Jacks, another hook up and towing fee for the unrequested tow in Airdrie ... I'm not so impressed. They let me know when it's dropped off. I'm in for over $500 so far, they look sympathetic, sure seems like a lot for an unsolicited tow because the AMA was late, but, hey, they've got the car now...them's the brakes...I wonder if they buy the cops their donuts or if it's a commissioned system...
Now to Bert and Jacks, but it's a Sunday, they're closed. And I make it by on Monday, and they're closed as well, and after a few days I realize that, after over 40 years in business, they've finally folded, only 2 days before, the fate of an honest mechanic, and the owner of the lot, the landlord, comes round and tells me to get my car off his property, somewhat kindly, but the pressure's on.
Taking apart the car, torque wrenches, the help of well intentioned roommates dropping screws on the ground, moving alternators, belts, eventually to discover that it's not the timing belt, it's the cam-shaft sprocket, shattered into a dozen pieces, and there's no place left to tow this, and so it's to the wreckers.
If I'd known a trustworthy mechanic I would have had it towed there, whatever the price, but a trustworthy and competent mechanic is like an honest politician or an ethical lawyer, I'd only ever known these ones, and they were now out of business, $500 into the funeral I empty the boot and say goodbye to what was, without a doubt, the best car I'd ever owned.
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