The Laundromat
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.
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- Category: Miscellany
5 days and counting
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....
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- Category: Miscellany
Passing through a cave in Yosemite
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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- Category: Dreams
The Bosses' Nephew
He's come over from Italy to visit Canada, try things out, he's 24 years old, speaks no English.
Which is no problem, as everyone at the restaurant (bar myself) speaks Italian.
In Italy he was a painter/construction worker. He's good looking, very good natured, tall, charming, all the girls like him. His uncle sets to work getting him dates immediately. His family in Italy is very wealthy, he's a child of privilege, and his uncle, he's going to spoil him and show him the opportunity that exists in Canada.
We start him as a busboy. His job will be to get the customers water, bread, bring bruschetta, clean and reset tables.
He's pretty laid back, and we figure out pretty quick that he's not going to be the greatest star the restaurant has ever seen, but he's the bosses nephew and what do you say? The best we can do is adjust his tips to reflect his contribution, and even then we're erring grossly on the high side, we don't want to offend the boss.
He takes frequent breaks. Three 15 minute cigarette breaks an hour. Not quick cigarette breaks, choking back a quick half fag, but slow, drawn out breaks. The other 15 minutes of the hour he eats.
He's a classic case of "Paid by the hour union mentality". He has no sense of urgency, and in the midst of the busiest rush will find time to slip out the back of the restaurant and have a slow cigarette or another plate of pasta.
But he's very charming, and he regales us with the stories of his dates. He's getting quite a few. He can't speak a word of work related English, and requests to fetch bread, water - urgent - mimed with a gesture of a hand in the air filling a glass - and the words "Aqua - Agua" - only seem to fill him with confusion, he stands perplexed in the center of the restaurant for a minute or two before heading out for another cigarette.
In the morning he vacuums. And halfway through the vacuuming he takes the end of the vacuum and affixes the hose to the front of his trousers and stands there, waving his arms in the air while he pretends to receive oral sex. It's a funny joke and he repeats it daily.
He's learning English. Not the boring words that you might use in a restaurant, like "Bread", "Water", "Chair" or "Table" but "I want to fuck you" and "She has nice tits" and "Young girls, they are the best". In fact he probably knows more profanities than most sailors, all picked up in a few short weeks.
His dates, they don't speak Italian, still they seem to get on all right for a night or two. The next day he regales us with stories of his successes, exploits, he's not doing so badly. The boys, they don't believe his success, I've watched him however, heard his confessions of the less-than-ideal dates, I believe him. There was "Chelsea", who he took to Banff and who told him that she was "Married to God", a bad date if ever there was one. And he was busted making out with Chelsea when he parked under the balcony of his previous evening's mistress, who came out with her roommate and cheered him on. It was a shame, because she was a good date, and the sense of bringing a bad date to talk about God with under the window of a good date rather eludes me.
Staff meals: staff's turn to eat, he's already had 3 or 4 meals today and so passes, I crouch outside to quickly devour my food as there's still work yet to be done. He comes to visit, chats with me, farts loudly, belches, then expectorates on the pavement. I'm fast losing my appetite and stare at him, he looks a bit sheepish and continues.
"It's natural" he assures me.
***
He peruses all the flyers in the newspapers. He's amazed by the terrific low prices on commercial trash, iPhones, computers, sneakers, he reads the prices aloud, shows us the ad, we explain again the price, and he converts it for us into Euros and tells us how much it would cost back in Italy. He wants to buy a bunch - of it all, sneakers, XBox's, iPhone's, and ship them to his friends in Italy.
***
The Boss, he doesn't have much of a sense of humor. He likes the boy, what's not to like, but when I joke that the Euro has begun recovering ever since he came to visit, that Italy has started a collection to keep him in Canada, he's not so pleased...."Careful" he says under his breath...
***
The vacation, it's coming soon, and he's confided big plans to have a party at the Bosses house. Maybe a couple. And it would almost be worth hanging out in Calgary to see how this pans out...
***
You excuse it all, he's young after all, only 24, but I can't ever remember being that young. He's telling us about the new hostess, Gypsies Daughter, how he loves "Fresh Pussy" and he smells his fingers to explain to us, then argues that in Italy it's no problem to fuck girls 14 years old, it's normal.....
And I think, if he manages to fuck the gypsy hostess, even though she's 16 and he's 24 he will be by far the younger of the two. But like a lot of thoughts I hold them in, keep them to myself, I'm leaving in a few weeks and he's young and charming and most importantly he's the bosses' nephew.
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- Category: People
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