from xolox - Sunday, April 24, 2005
accessed 1439 times
All's well that ends well.
All's well that ends well.
I lift the receiver and wait for the dial tone. I sort the correct change, it doesn't take long as I'm carrying it all in my hand. I find a quarter and a dime, and plunk them down the slot. It's 3:00 in the AM, and I'm standing at a pay phone in my coat and boxers. No big deal right? Except that it's cold, as November mornings tend to be. I wouldn't be here using a public phone, but my cell phone's battery died just as soon as I had retrieved the number I needed. I dial, I wait, I shiver, I listen... This could be embarrassing, if I had a spare thought to consider it.
Last night was fun, Canadian booze and BC's finest green, combined with the latin tones of salsa, have made this trip one I will never forget. But right now I am frantic. Last night's sweat is a dim memory in this morning's frigid air.
I'm new to this town and nothing's familiar. I've left my camcorder, passport and money in last night's ride. And it's no wonder. I was drunk, I was high, and we'd been wandering the town in a cab in search of a party that we never did find. Eventually we settled for the best nightlife this city had to offer, after realizing that we'd been wandering in circles for over an hour. We were ready to settle for anything.
Chevon is blown, she's had enough. She passes the joint this way. I exchange it for the bottle of Jack which she promptly turns down. I too have had enough. David reaches for the bottle. Dave can drink, and put a fish to shame while he's at it.
Chevon: "I'm bored." I grunt in agreement and stare back off into space. David doesn't even bother, it's like the guy's catatonic. There's nothing more tiresome than this tired old town. Right now, it is no more attractive to me than yesterday's leftover quiche.
David: "Have you ever been to Canada?" "No" I say, "I can't say that I have, but I hear there's a good time to be had there".
Chevon: "Well that settles it, I'm going. Who's with me?" It takes about two seconds and we're all agreed. Twenty minutes and a half-assed plan later, we stumble onto a Metro bus, and head for the Greyhound station, and ultimately Vancouver, Canada. We barely made the Greyhound.
Three hours later, Approximately 8:30 PM, we arrive at the border. The bus stops, and we pile out, thankful for the chance to stretch our legs and breathe some fresh air.
Border guard: "Were will you be staying tonight?". I answer: "We'll be looking for a campground, probably a state park..." With a derisive snort and a suspicious glance, we are informed there are no state parks in Canada, mainly because Canada is divided by provinces. "Well shoot me." It didn't quite escape my lips, but it was damn close.
Border guard: "Very well, welcome to Canada, enjoy your stay." from the look on his face, it's plain to see that he has quickly lost interest, and this conversation may as well have happened ten years ago. He moves down the line to begin over what must be bane of his existence. With that we are ushered through a small gate as the guard begins his two-hundred thousandth interview of the night.
Now, for a place to stay. We need to find somewhere to stash our belongings, gather our bearings and get ready to tear up the town. Camping is out of the question as its taken longer to arrive then expected, and the sun is quickly setting. A cold breeze has arisen. Few skies are more beautiful then the one we are witness to tonight. Our spirits are high, and the night is full of expectation. We can feel the anticipation in the air, we can taste it in our mouths. We are hungry for adventure. We are free of the Emerald City. And right now, a hotel seems the logical choice.
1:20 AM: The surge of adrenaline is nearing the end. I can feel the effects of the day, and all the abuses I've heaped upon my weary self, and I am content. Chevon is grinding yet another random stranger. Salsa is an intoxicant in and of itself, and when combined with the days revelry, inhibitions fly out the window. We are plastered. Chevon has been trading shots of her breasts for shots of Tequila, and we are all her lucky recipients.
1:50 AM: The stocky blond butch behind the bar has announced the end of the party, causing a stampede for one desperate last drink. And then we all pile out. The air is cold, but refreshing. No cup of coffee can steady one's spinning head like that perfect shot of oxygen. We hail a cab, and head back to our temporary home.
2:48 AM: Cab Driver: "That will be $47.60 please..." I reach for my coat and step out. David tosses 60 odd bucks Canadian, and slams the door before the cabbie gets a chance to thank us. Exhaustion has settled in in earnest and we can't wait to get inside.
Something is nagging at me, but I can't make it out through this drunken haze. Whatever. I throw my clothes off and fall three miles onto the bed. My head is spinning like a top, and there again is that certainty that I've forgotten something important. It just won't let go, it's like a nibbling at the corner of my consciousness, and it won't let me rest.
I'm jolted three miles back up, going, going and gone... My passport, camcorder, and money are all gone. They may be gone, but I know where they are. They're in the fucking cab! I grabbed my coat, but nothing else. My cell phone is in my coat pocket, I reach for it, scroll down for the cab company's number just as my phone winks out. I scribble the number down on my palm while it's still fresh in my mind. I throw on my coat and then I head out the door. I reach in my coat pocket for change, I gotta find a payphone...