loonie bin

you know that busker-type who stands frozen on the sidewalk for what seem like eons and moves only after someone tosses a couple of loonies into the upside-down, gold-glitter-spraypainted top hat on the ground in front of him? well, imagine that, instead of one busker, there are two. and instead of standing in crisply held mime-shapes on the streetside, they're sitting face-to-face lethargic right next to you in a coffee shop. and instead of surprising you by mr. roboto-ing when you drop loonies into the hat (which, of course, doesn't actually exist in this scenario), they talk. and instead of enchanting you with their impressive stillness and concentration, they bore you stiff (causing you to begin inadvertently resembling the mid-freeze busker) with their debilitatingly dull topics of conversation. and, even though you've stopped throwing your "loonies" into the "hat" (truth be told, you've yet to throw even one because you'd never been all that interested to begin with), they always find something else to say (usually monotonously) after their long pauses, so you can never make it stop or make them go away.

well, this is pretty much what's happening here right now. these two 50+ sisters (i guess?) launch into something about how lipstick melts. (long pause. would-be loonie toss.) then, on to how chemicals break down the spandex in bathing suits. (pause. loonie.) later, it comes up that some mutual friend named Marla has lots of stuff. gripping. even their rants (so-called) are a snore: you know what i hate? kitchen stuff. (what that could possibly mean, i will never know.) or how about: you know flip flops? that thing between the toes? i can't wear those. they're not realistic for walking. on a scale of boring to BO-RING, this is a bazillion times worse than any bridgehead hot chocolate. i'm on the verge of falling into a very deep coma. and of gouging one of my own eyes out. possibly with a loonie.

forty-five minutes into the Snore Sisters' conversation, a glimmer of hope. Sister 1: do we need to get going? i mean, what time's our show at again? (oh, if ever there were a god...) but then, Sister 2: 7:30. current time: 5:45. oh, eff.

some time later, at the same table -- now occupied by a 20-something woman who's wearing her black Jackie O sunglasses indoors (which i understand about as well as i get "hating kitchen stuff") -- there's another freeze-busker moment. a 30-something man-on-a-mission enters the coffee shop and makes a beeline for Indoor Jackie. he kind of reminds me of the stapler guy (aka Milton) from office space, except thinner, with darker hair and less ridiculous eyewear. anyway, he stands behind the chair that's facing Jackie and remains there, completely still, mute and erect (no, not like that) for a solid sixty seconds. it's awkward. Jackie's very busy texting, and (reminder) she's wearing sunglasses. indoors. so, this whole time, she doesn't seem to see him. when her eagle eye finally does spot him, she throws a question (instead of a loonie) dryly his way: are you looking for someone? he doesn't even answer. instead, realizing Jackie's clearly not the blind date he's come here to meet up with, he does a 180˚ (like they do in the military) and takes a seat at a neighbouring table to wait for his real date. frozen again for an indefinite amount of time. until the next loonie drops.

and now back to translating...

Squawker McSquawkerson

this afternoon, i have made the long-awaited journey to the lovely (if not uppity) Westboro, where chain stores are much harder to come by, every parent (and their dog -- literally! ok...not literally) has their baby in a super-chic three-wheeling sporto-stroller, and even the St. Vincent de Paul sells antiques. (note to self: don’t miss snagging that $199 solid-wood dresser.)

the reason i’ve been meaning to venture out here is -- *drum roll* -- to discover some new coffee shops to work in. or at least to see something new when glancing out the window of familiar locales such as the bridgehead, where i am right now (with Arcade Fire featured in the background).

the food here is tops: chocolate-pecan squares and lemon bars and brownies – oh, my! sadly, however, the hot chocolate tends to be subpar. as in, bo-ring, dull, devoid of character, a total snore. by some stroke of luck, today’s is better than usual: a 7 out of 10, say. (the chocolate-syrup-swirl design helped.) this can only be a good omen! and indeed, a slew of “dates” have cropped up already.

first: the Latin Ladies. only caught the tail end of their get-together, but i immediately took to them – no doubt because they were involved in two of my favourite activities: speaking french and speaking spanish. (oh, boy. nerd alert!) the bubbly québécoise woman was practicing her spanish (¡excelente!) with the sweet hispanic-canadian woman who gently corrected mademoiselle here and there. this just in: they meet here again next week. perhaps i’ll just “happen” by and smilingly nudge my way into their conversation – a linguistic ménage à trois, no? ¡claro que sí!

cita número dos: the McSquawkersons. oy vey! you know these two already. one guy, one girl, one totally platonic friendship (between girl and guy), and two intense romances (as in, the ones each egomaniac is having with his- or herself). everything oozing from them is on a twofold mission: 1) to make sure everyone in the café can hear them –*squawk* “so how ARE you?!” *squaaaawk* (together, they could fuel the economy for at least a few new hearing-aid companies) – , and 2) to make sure everyone in the café understands that these are, without a doubt, the two coolest and “craziest” people in the world. ever. (“no, you don’t even know – sometimes i just get so crazy!” *squawk*). sigh. the bridgehead is particularly prone to hosting such characters…

and last but certainly not least: (incidental) date number three. it was the perfect scene. when I look up from my work, he’s already looking at me from across the way, through the window of the entrance. he smiles shyly. my heart skips a beat. it takes him only a few moments to move over to my side of the coffee shop. he has this sweet blond hair and a cherubic face. and, though not too bold, he’s not nearly as awkward or timid as i’d expected a 5-year-old to be! he says hello to me, puts the café’s toy back in the toybox on the ground, and then, after asking me to help him un-catch the pieces of grass (you know, the ones he’d found outside and decided to save) from under the toy, he does a couple of dance moves, smiles sweetly at me again, and takes off with his dad and two sisters. to paraphrase what my friend Rebecca has recently said about her 5-year-old son, i'm now aching to go back to kindergarten just so that i can have a crush on that little boy!

and now back to translating...