Pit Stop
You ever get the feeling that maybe you could be more romantic? Do you hear a little voice that says a wild and spontaneous random act of romance is just what you need? Ignore this voice. This is the voice of the devil. Possibly a devil sponsored by Tim Horton's coffee shop.
Allow me to explain.
Thursday night I was pretty much a wreck; too much studying, not enough Ryan, and I was way over my quota of shitty news. So I was a weensy bit bitchy on the phone with Ryan. Actually kind of a LOT bitchy, saying that travelling all the way out to see him for a couple hours Friday wasn't 'worth it'. So Friday I'm all regretful, and decide (and this can happen on a steady diet of common-sense-addling molecular biology and beer) to take the midnight bus to Peterborough and surprise Ryan. So a couple of hours later, there I am at the bus terminal in Peterborough, I trot over to the payphone, call, and RYAN'S CELL PHONE IS OFF. I am frozen in my incredulity.
Several cars full of drunken Canada Day revellers swoosh by in my periphery.
I dial again. HIS PHONE IS STILL OFF. And that's when it really sinks in. I don't know where he lives (I’ve only been there once). I don't know how to reach him (I have only his cell number). It is freezing cold, I'm in strappy heels and a skirt, in a small city full of really really drunk people.
And the next bus back isn't until morning.
A very nice hot dog man abandons his cart to comb the streets nearby with me for familiar landmarks. I wander around some more in hopes that I can somehow deduce where Ryan lives by triangulating the locations of bars he plays at. No go. Hot Dog Man reluctantly lets me go and I make my way to a 24-hour Tim Hortons. Where I have a little bit of a sob in the bathroom, and order the largest coffee they offer.
The parking lot is full of loitering post-bar folks, most of whom seem as though they have just arrived from the Sketchiest People of the Year awards and none of them left empty-handed. I was offered accomadations by MANY of these people, including the back seat of a car made from what appeared to be compressed rust, the type of car that can give you tetanus just from looking at it.
I met Amanda in the parking lot, a strangely sane chain-smoking 17-year-old whose boyfriend just dumped her for her best friend; we were an interesting pair. I left Amanda to wander some more around, though after around an hour and a half I ended up BACK in the parking lot of Tim Hortons. I had accidentally made a giant square. My feet were really cut from my sandals by this point, blood running between my toes.
So it was a long long night. Around five AM I eventually accepted the offer of a couch from a really irritating but harmless guy who I met as I played on the train tracks next to the Tim Hortons, and the sun rose as I sat huddled on his couch as far away from him as possible, watching CNN. I caught the 7:45 bus and got the hell out of dodge.
Needless to say, Ryan feels awful; hanging out with him and his dad on Sunday I got the impression he thinks it would be easier to get a new girlfriend than try and make this up. It’s odd he feels so guilty; I think this is really MY fault. His phone had run out of minutes, BTW, it’s not like he even had it turned off. Oh, and that Sunday I also impaled my foot with a long shard of glass at Ryan’s buddy Roger’s place, and bled the place up pretty good. Why does Peterborough hate me???
And briefly, some headlines from the other news stories we’re covering:
PETITION FOR COURSE SNAGS IN BIOLOGY DEPT - STUDENT DESPAIRS 0% REMOVAL
MOLLY INTERVIEWS FOR DEPARTMENT OF MEDICINE POSITION - ACCIDENTLY STONED AT THE TIME
Allow me to explain.
Thursday night I was pretty much a wreck; too much studying, not enough Ryan, and I was way over my quota of shitty news. So I was a weensy bit bitchy on the phone with Ryan. Actually kind of a LOT bitchy, saying that travelling all the way out to see him for a couple hours Friday wasn't 'worth it'. So Friday I'm all regretful, and decide (and this can happen on a steady diet of common-sense-addling molecular biology and beer) to take the midnight bus to Peterborough and surprise Ryan. So a couple of hours later, there I am at the bus terminal in Peterborough, I trot over to the payphone, call, and RYAN'S CELL PHONE IS OFF. I am frozen in my incredulity.
Several cars full of drunken Canada Day revellers swoosh by in my periphery.
I dial again. HIS PHONE IS STILL OFF. And that's when it really sinks in. I don't know where he lives (I’ve only been there once). I don't know how to reach him (I have only his cell number). It is freezing cold, I'm in strappy heels and a skirt, in a small city full of really really drunk people.
And the next bus back isn't until morning.
A very nice hot dog man abandons his cart to comb the streets nearby with me for familiar landmarks. I wander around some more in hopes that I can somehow deduce where Ryan lives by triangulating the locations of bars he plays at. No go. Hot Dog Man reluctantly lets me go and I make my way to a 24-hour Tim Hortons. Where I have a little bit of a sob in the bathroom, and order the largest coffee they offer.
The parking lot is full of loitering post-bar folks, most of whom seem as though they have just arrived from the Sketchiest People of the Year awards and none of them left empty-handed. I was offered accomadations by MANY of these people, including the back seat of a car made from what appeared to be compressed rust, the type of car that can give you tetanus just from looking at it.
I met Amanda in the parking lot, a strangely sane chain-smoking 17-year-old whose boyfriend just dumped her for her best friend; we were an interesting pair. I left Amanda to wander some more around, though after around an hour and a half I ended up BACK in the parking lot of Tim Hortons. I had accidentally made a giant square. My feet were really cut from my sandals by this point, blood running between my toes.
So it was a long long night. Around five AM I eventually accepted the offer of a couch from a really irritating but harmless guy who I met as I played on the train tracks next to the Tim Hortons, and the sun rose as I sat huddled on his couch as far away from him as possible, watching CNN. I caught the 7:45 bus and got the hell out of dodge.
Needless to say, Ryan feels awful; hanging out with him and his dad on Sunday I got the impression he thinks it would be easier to get a new girlfriend than try and make this up. It’s odd he feels so guilty; I think this is really MY fault. His phone had run out of minutes, BTW, it’s not like he even had it turned off. Oh, and that Sunday I also impaled my foot with a long shard of glass at Ryan’s buddy Roger’s place, and bled the place up pretty good. Why does Peterborough hate me???
And briefly, some headlines from the other news stories we’re covering:
PETITION FOR COURSE SNAGS IN BIOLOGY DEPT - STUDENT DESPAIRS 0% REMOVAL
MOLLY INTERVIEWS FOR DEPARTMENT OF MEDICINE POSITION - ACCIDENTLY STONED AT THE TIME