Anecdote 1: About the Blue Man and the Economist

So, as I was boring myself out of my mind sitting on an uncomfortable barstool at the illustrous Edmonton International Airport(where "international" means "has 3 daily flights to the continental United States"), I saw a blue man. He was bald, had leathery skin, and sported a distinctly smurf-coloured complexion. "Oh my," I thought to myself, biting a piece off my fourth chocolate bar(KitKat Chunky, if any of you care) and washing it down with my 5th extra-large coffee that afternoon,"there is a reason my contact lenses are called 'monthlies' and not 'semesterlies'!" As I lifted the Cosmopolitan magazine I was reading up higher so I could sneak looks at him from behind it, I realized it had been expressly for situations like this that I had payed something like 17 dollars for an issue of the much more dignified-looking Economist. Nobody stares open-mouthedly at blue guys from behind the Economist.
Well, as it turned out, his face was tattooed blue in a tiny pattern, so that from afar, it had a solid bright blue appearance. Having solved the mystery with my briliant analytical skills, I soon resettled into my article entitled If Guys wrote Cosmo cover lines (my favourite ones: "Want to Know How to Look Hot Naked? Take Your Clothes Off!", "Leaving the Seat Up- 12 Secret Ways Guys Show They're Committed", and "Why Sex is as Good as an Apology". Tee hee. Tee hee hee).
Suddenly, somebody loud-whispers with all the charm of a life-boat losing air in the middle of a particularly shark-infested part of the Atlantic Ocean: "Oh, my, god. Have you SEEN HIM?!?"
Now, you have to know thatI am not one for the abuse of fonts, like, say, using 5 different fonts on your elections poster or something silly like that. But with that woman, you could hear the fonts.
She said,

" Have you SEEN HIM?!?"

Her eyes were bulging out of her head, her mouth was about 2 inches from my chin, and she had a simultaneously disgusted and expecting smile on her face. Oh, I know what she wanted. She wanted me to bend over conspirationally and say, with a smilarly amazed-disgusted expression on my face,

" I know! Can you believe it?! I can't BELIEVE it!!!!"

I gave her the polite/bored shrug-smile.


In conclusion: What an unclassy woman. I bet she would have thought nothing of gawking at him from behind the Cosmopolitan.


Anecdote 2: About the Cleaning Lady and the Mustache



There was a cleaning lady. She had a fabulously groomed fully-grown moustache. And I don't mean that she had a lot of hair on her upper lip. She had a black moustache. This was particularly astonishing as all the hair on her head was an almost white shade of grey. End of story.



Anecdote 3: About Whatever the Fuck it is that's Wrong with People in General

As I was officially employed as the International Centre Welcome Booth Attendant, and my duties consisted of helping all of the 2-15 students arriving daily to make their way from the Air Canada Gate to the baggage carousel to the sky shuttle departure, I of course did nothing for 6.5 out of the seven hours of my shift. My open and shameless display of booth-sitting and general uselessness led many people to believe that, despite the 20 square foot banner hanging above my head reading "University of Alberta- Welcome International Students!", I was the airport information. The real airport information was of course less than 20 feet away from me, and a stainless steel official-looking structure with computers and all, while my booth was a little wooden cart, but sure.Why not. I generally answered questions about the location of washrooms, currency exchanges, shy shuttle departures and bank machines out of sheer laziness, as "Over there!" and pointing is much faster than "This is not the airport information, and I am not here to answer such ridiculously mundane questions, unless of course you are foreign and a differential-fee paying student at that fine university of ours." But needless to say, there were also questions that started with "My friend is coming in with Westjet from White Horse, and..." At this point I generally interrupted the inquirer, and attempted to say a more polite version of the former, such as "I'm sorry, I don't actually know the answer to this question- I'm not from the airport, I'm from the university, but the airport information is right over there." Curiously enough, about a good half of all people started turning around and walking away the minute they heard "I'm sorry, I don't actually know,". Even though I was very obvioulsy mid-sentence, they either turned around on their heels, or backed away a few steps before doing so. None of them were deterred by the fact that I was still talking. Of course, I wasn't deterred by the fact that they were walking away either, as I kept on going while they were moving. After a few suckers like that, my patience wore thin. The next lady did the exact same spiel with me, but as she walked away(she was an immediately-turner-arounder), I said "Excuse me! Excuse me!" That second 'excuse me' was considerably louder than the first one, and people started looking. Do you think she stopped? No. Turmed around? No. Maybe at least looked over her shoulder to see what I wanted? Sure not. Instead, she gave me a dismissive wave backward with her hand while walking away. I'm only saying one thing: Consider yourself lucky that I took pity on your miserable existence. Somebody lesser than me would have, say, made you polish the lobby with your grubby T-Shirt and then wax all of the sky shuttles with your greasy hair.


It's just as well tomorrow's my last day, I figure.