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B & S's 5th Anniversary
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
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I've given each of them rides - S**- Never again, his smell lingered for days in the jeep.
It wasn't a good smell. He'd have been - I'd have guessed, early 40's, dirty, clothes never washed, dreadlocks. He professed to be a ladies man. His stink was just the nasty nasal embodiment of his appearance.
And B******, she was the clown with the axe I'd picked up one rainy day back in the years of the Volvo. In the years since she'd grown huge - always fat, now a morbidly-obese disabled sort-of-huge with a moustache and beard. And simple - unable to talk about anything of any import. I'd guess her to be in her 60's.
Anyways, S** and B***** had been seen together for a few years, hanging out, I'd wondered about it a bit, but you only let your imagination go so far and decided it was probably a matter of convenience for whatever social worker they had, perhaps they'd been housed together. It was inconceivable that anyone - even each other - could find either of them attractive or in any way passable. It was unlikely that it was even physically possible.
I was wrong, in the restaurant with friends (case workers?) on Sunday morning B* announces that it's their 5 year anniversary.
And S* - these past few years he's looking dozens of years older, maybe 50 going on 80, and if I thought about it I'd have more than a few questions but I'm not going to think about it, not for another moment...
The Easter Weekend
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
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This Easter Weekend, substantially overstated, one waiter could have handled the whole thing. Instead it's me and JR, splitting the days. Until Sunday.
It's not even remotely busy. Mind you, it doesn't have to be, at our prices you only need a few tables and the ring-outs get huge in a hurry.
1:30 Saturday, a pretty girl walks in and seats herself in the back of the restaurant. Jr approaches her, apparently she ate there a few days before, chats to her, she asks about his wedding ring, he confirms he's married - and she stands up and leaves.
Just like that.
I'm aghast. Someone - someone - fancied JR. I mean, I know he's married with children but I find him the furthest thing from attractive - a younger version of Ken, who - comparatively - has infinitely more charm and suavity.
This is incredible. I mean - 5 years ago, when I started, he was a younger version of Leonardo Di Caprio, but now, now he's Leonardo gone down the road of Orson Welles.
And really - you only need to talk to him for a few minutes - he can be charming, but it's a superficial, guarded charm; you see through it - and she, well, she seemed so normal.
Anyways, had to laugh, there's no accounting for taste...
Sunday, JR, and 2:00 it happens, the endless parade of people wanting nothing to eat but service, we fill, parties of 9 that want to sit down or take out or just mill about admiring the taxidermy, an hour of the good 'ole Cock 'N' Suck. He misses his ferry.
And then, just as quickly, it's back to normal and the restaurant is empty and he makes the next ferry and there's a little rush later in the evening, but nothing I can't handle.
The summer begins.
Nick
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
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Driving back from work, 9:00 PM, and someone flags me down - middle of the highway, orange safety vest, manically waving a flashlight. I pull over, Was there an accident?!! What's up!!!? Nope.
None of the above, it's Nick, from further up a road I used to live on in Balfour. Nick, brother of ..... son of ...., Nick, who used to work at the ... ... ...., Nick has to get to town, it's an emergency, just drive quick thank you very much. He lets himself in the car as soon as I pull over, no questions, it's a novel presumption this, that I'm somehow sharing his desperation, his mission, sense of urgency; that we can do this together...
The whole family from ..... road are wing-nuts, poorly socialized, inbred, they'd probably be diagnosed "Autistic" but - really, how could you, there's so much going on up there.
Nuts breeds nuts. So just drive and listen to Nick calm himself, he's saved, he's going to get to Nelson, he's 2 backpacks with him, he's got to see an old friend who's in town, up in Fairmount, I can drop him anywhere.
So we chat the rest of the drive, or rather, he largely chats and I listen, I've met almost everyone in the family, all of them nuts, bonkers, I've only not met the mother, probably because by some Hassidic tradition she's not allowed out of the house, (they're members of one of the many cults of "Kootenay Jews", which seem to only require "identifying with", and they're all allowed to get away with it because we don't have enough real Jews to protest. I'm not sure there are any Jews at all out here, because it's not polite to ask, it's a little challenging, and so you have to take everyone at their word.)
And come Nelson get him out of the car and he's all confused again, why would I want him out? But he's got to see his old friend, remember? And he's confused and blinking his light around my jeep to make sure he's not forgotten anything, and I'm wanting him out because there's something about crazy that I'm starting to lose patience with...
Find my parking spot down by the airport, usually quiet but tonight a group of high school students - 4 cars in total, have taken up drag racing on the strip. Now I know why the police are always down here, only they're not down here tonight - one of the kids must have a cop as a father....
In the morning, up, still sore in every limb, the hip-abductor, which has doubtless greatly improved my child-birthing skills has also greatly impeded my ability to walk, and while I should be going to the gym I'm instead sitting around and wondering if this can be postponed yet another day...
Gym
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Still fucking sore. The "Hip Abductor", easy enough to do, has taken it's toll. As has everything else. Which only makes me all the more annoying at work: "Feel my Bicep! IT'S HUGE...soooo hard!!! It's LIKE A TUMOR ON MY ARM! I'M GOING TO HAVE TO SEE A DOCTOR AND MAKE SURE IT'S NOT CANCER!!!!". This, is of course, only one of the many muscles I've as of late rediscovered, overextended and strained.
But there's only so many places I can get people to touch.
My reward, I've decided, is that if I can make it another 7 times, use up my punch pass before it expires, I'm going to become a "Life Coach" and bring my own brand of supercililous annoying to the masses. Broadcasting my "Best Life" photos of me photoshopped or AI'd into God's Body on a beach in Mexico and all that.
Facebook. I'm going to start using my Facebook Account. And set up a better Instagram devoted to pictures of me.
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