Wait, I've Seen That Before

In grade two I had one awful bitch of a teacher. (I hope you google your own name and stumble across this post, Mme. Beaulieu from Madaleine d’Houet). At best she was terse, at worst she made you want to cower under your desk. And she didn’t like me; she was extra bitchy to me. Her disdain for me was specific and focused, so much so that it was palatable and disconcerting to the other students. She would never call on me when my hand was raised, even if it was the only one, and she would call on me when no one’s hand was raised, singling me out. One time students were being called up to the front of the class individually to collect papers that had been graded. When I got to the front to retrieve mine, her outstretched hand deliberately let fall my paper about a foot before I could reach it. Once I brought my notebook up to her desk to ask her a question. She noticed that I had boxed off some notes in pen and saw her chance. She scolded me for “boxing off notes”, put a big red X through it and sent me back to my desk before I could ask my question. She was a miserable scrunt and had no business being within 100 feet of children, especially ones in their developmental years. She would have been more in her element slithering in a pile hissing snakes.

On one memorable day I was eating lunch with the other students in the gymnasium and I had to urinate like I had never had to urinate before, it was big and it was now. One problem, Mme. Beaulieu was monitoring the door and I would have to ask her for permission to leave the gym. No matter how much I tried to convey urgency, pressure, direness and fear to her in seven-year-old’s English she wouldn’t budge. I fought like hell to quietly make it to the bell but when it rang at the end of meal time it signified more than just the release of the students. Terror ran through my body while warm relief ran through my jeans. The subsequent recess was spent sitting on a heating vent in hopes of drying my pants while the other students played outside. The icing on the cake was that that afternoon I was paired up with the girl I had a crush on for a class assignment. I tried to charmingly contribute to the activity while subtly pulling my sweatshirt down to my knees to hide the giant wet spot.

It might have cost fortune in further child psychologist fees but I bet you Scrunt would have rushed me through if I had whipped it out and started pissing on her. She could very well be dead now, having only ever taught children cursive writing and that sometimes you can’t do anything right, no matter how hard you try. Nice legacy.

So I thought of Mme. Beaulieu yesterday during lunch when, much to the amusement of my female coworkers, I accidentally knocked my bowl off my desk with my arm, covering my crotch in cream of broccoli soup. The stain, I noticed, was the same pattern as the pee stain in grade two.

If any of you were wondering, cream of broccoli soup dries slightly slower than pee and leaves denim feeling like a stiff pad.

The House Rent Boogie

Recently I joined the ranks of the unemployed. The axe came down, swift and unforeseen. I was looking left and it came from the right.

A combination of lyrics play over and over again in my head from George Thorogood's "1 Bourbon, 1 Scotch and 1 beer" and, it's predecessor, John Lee Hooker's "House Rent Boogie".

I come home last Friday, talk to the woman that I lost my job,
She says don't confront me as long as I have my rent next Friday

Except it was Tuesday. And of course the woman was sweet and supportive, albeit suffering from a required minimal amount of stress.

The first items on one's action list when they get fired are updating the resume, pounding the pavement and hitting up contacts. And yes, I did do some homework on day one, but I also went out for lunch and was playing xbox when the woman came home.

She said "I don't believe you're tryin' to find no job,
I seen you today you was standin' on a corner, Leaning up against a post."
I said "But I'm tired, I've been walkin' all day, I just can't find no job."

Of course what one knows they should do often differs from the first thing they actually do.

So I stop in the local bar you know people,
I go to the bar, I ring my coat, I call the bartender
Said "Look man, come down here!"
He got down there, "So what you want?"

And the rest is foggy lyrical history.

We went high in the air and were able to see a lot of the island. We didn't know there were mountains to the south. Then they slowed down and dipped us, then they reeled us in. Parasailing is awesome.

Yesterday I went all discovery channel in the giant lake. I swam with nurse sharks and mulit-coloured fish. There's a great photo taken of me holding a giant sting ray but it's probably in a Dominican landfill now because it would have cost me $13CAD to acquire it. Dominican landfills, by the way, exist as randomly dispersed piles of garbage by the side of the road.

Today we're going tandem parasailing on the beach. Our flight out is tomorrow but I don't think I'm ready to leave.

We walked along the pristeen beach to a row of shops because we needed some junk to take home, a t-shirt, a painting, a wood carving. It was a nice walk, the sand is as white and soft as icing sugar, the giant lake is brilliant torquoise and blue. Walking into the water while the surf is receding creates a strange effect. The ground races away from you under your feet faster than you can walk so it looks like you're moving backwards but you're walking forwards.

Lindsey's a ruthless haggler. She'll walk into the first shop start dropping the price of a wanted item faster than a loosed coconut from a rotted stem. But he's only the set up man. Once she gets to a decent price she'll leave and take that with her to the next shops where she'll tell them that they now have to beat that price. There's a lot of arguing, turning away, eyelash batting and eventually smiling. She's a killer.

Last night I flashed the old art and put these monkeys to shame. I shut down most of these other Canadians. People were dropping like flies around me. My sweetheart/trooper trucked on with me till about 4 or 5. Some of these pups have probably never yet been kicked around by a 40 I guess.

Wednesday we're going snorkling with sharks and sting rays. Right after I check myself for chum-leaking open wounds.

There are a ton of Canadians here. They just keep busing them in. And there's at least 2 separate groups of about 10 drunk, 20 or 30 something guys that are fueling each other and going vacation crazy. By the poolside they sweep over females like locusts over a crop.

Linz was tired last night so we were back in the room by 10:45. As I was falling asleep around 4 AM and watching the ESPN rerun of 42,000 screaming fans at Skydome nearly cheer their Canadian squad back against the Americans in the top of the ninth in the Classico Mundial de Biesbol, I was serenaded by a mighty drunk and mighty loud chorus of O Canada coming from the bar. I slept like a baby.