October 2003 Archives

Arianna made an entry on her second night in Montreal. I will tell it from my perspective, in pictures. As always, click on the picture to get the full experience.

Arianna and I spent a couple of hours at Il Bolero, Montreal's finest fetish shop, trying on various outfits. I tried on these red PVC pants that I looked not too bad in, but I couldn't justify the $150 price tag. PVC="expensive". After a few hundred dollars between the two of us, we came up with the following:

Doesn't Arianna look like Carrie-Anne Moss' Trinity from The Matrix?

Rose looks like Betty Boop here. She looked REALLLY good in PVC. I hope we can find an excuse for her to wear it again! Stupidly, I never really got a standing picture of her alone. But she does look pretty cute here, I think.

This was the lead sound man for the project.

Damn good singers.

Exhibitionist, I'm told.

Dunno.

This is a good picture of Julian.

I'm not sure where we picked up this guy, but he kept following us around for most of the night, even when we had poutine at la Belle Province. Weirdo.

How can anyone look so cute with smoked meat?

I hope it was as fun being here as it was having you, Arianna. Unanimously we decided that we'd like to see you again. Some more than others, I imagine. Aye. ;)

A funny thing happened to me at the bar the other day.

I decided to stop in to Brutopia to do a little reading since I was already downtown on some other errand, and also to get the recipe for Laura's delectable veggie burgers. Laura is the owner of the "restaurant" that runs out of Brutopia. She's quite the character, maybe I'll talk more about her some other time.

Laura has a good friend called Cécile, who is the one that actually introduced me to veggie burgers. I had never had one before. I had the burger and it was delicious. I always make a point of having one if I am downtown around dinnertime. Cécile is black and somewhat mannish in appearance, and she has a low voice as well. Her hair is pretty much identical to mine.

About two weeks ago I was in there with Elizabeth. Laura and I were chatting away, rudely ignoring Liz, and suddenly this guy with a scratchy beard politely interrrupts, kisses Laura on both cheeks (he was leaving) and then proceeds to do the same thing...to me. That type of thing normally occurs in the Village. I was shocked to say the least, but for some reason I thought it best to play along. The guy left. Laura and I continued our conversation, and I immediately forgot about it until about 20 minutes later, when I exclaimed, "Who the hell WAS that guy??" I went to the back to talk to Laura about it. It was Mike. She figured that he was hammered and just playing a joke. A pretty risky joke, I think. If I were one of THOSE types of guys, I would have beaten the shit out of him. She couldn't explain.

So when I went in there on Tuesday, Laura saw me and said, "Oh, I'll get you your first beer! It's on Mike. Remember Mike?" I did, vaguely. As it turns out, this story has become known to all the staff members, and it cracks them all up. A couple of days later, Mike returned to the bar. When Laura asks him why he double-kissed me, he didn't know what she was talking about. When he finally put two and two together, he realized that he thought that I was Cécile. He thought he was simply being polite to someone he knew. He was so embarrassed that he asked that I get a free beer the next time I am in the bar.

That's shitty for Cécile. When drunk men can mistake other men for her. People must think she's a man regularly. I hope she's gay.

This weekend was Turkey weekend in Canada, also known as Thanksgiving. Not a huge deal by any means in this country, and no deal at all in Quebec, at least French Quebec. So I got out of town and decided to take my girlfriend with me to meet the fam. More on that in the next entry.

About three weeks ago I thought I would do the adult thing and rent a car to Brockville. It's cheaper with two people anyway. I went to Avis and booked a car online. The only requirements are that you have a valid driver's license, a valid credit card in the drivers name and are at least 25 years old. Check, check and check.

But let's flash back to March 2002. I figured that even though I don't drive, it's about time I got a Quebec driver's license, especially since my Ontario driver's license expired. I needed another valid piece of ID anyway. So one day while I was "sick" at work I went down to their office downtown and tried to at least make an appointment. But I was told that the place I needed to go to was ten kilometres north in the middle of Ahuntsic. I told them that I was about to get going there to get things done, because isn't that what we all want to do? To actually get things done? (Nope.) I was told in no uncertain terms that I had to make an appointment BY PHONE. Not in person. It HAD to be done over the phone. No, they could not make the appointment there for me, either, since I was there and everything.

So I tried to reach them on my cell phone. It was busy. BUSY?? It's a government line, it should at LEAST have music and a reassuring voice telling me that I am important and that someone will eventually help me. But no, it was busy. I tried all day with the same result. In fact, I tried ALL MONTH to no fucking avail. So I gave up. It was August before I decided that I had to fucking do something, so I took the day off and went up to this office in Ahuntsic.

They have a rent-a-cop there directing traffic, asking every person why they are there (what other reason could they have for being there???) and directing them to a line. Everyone there was thinking to themselves, "Christ, I hate this shit." When it was my turn (after only 30 minutes!) they immediately told me to go wait in another line. After only ten minutes I got a really friendly lady who simply told me that all I needed was to take a picture and pay $100 and everything would be fine. Just $100 and three minutes, and all would be well. She gleefully made me an appointment for my birthday, which was November 8. Shall I remind you that this is August? I asked her why I had to wait three fucking months to take a picture. Apparently there is that much of a backlog. Unbelievable.

On or around October 26 last year, I decided to check to see if I had everything I needed to get my license. I had my old license, my proof of residency in Quebec, my health card, and my money. What I didn't have, and what no one told me about, was that I didn't have proof of residency in Ontario. On July 2 of last year, the law changed so that you needed that extra bit to have your licensed changed over. Therefore, I was up the creek without a paddle. I needed school records, tax records or an old bill in order to have that requirement satisfied. I had none of those things. I was a kid when I was living in Brockville, and I was no longer a student. My father was able to easily get my insurance records and send them to me, so I hoped and hoped that I could get something going there. And I was able to have my appointment changed from Friday, November 8 to Monday, November 4. Sweet.

I'm sure you know what happens on November 4.

Insurance records aren't good enough, because you don't have to be a resident of Ontario to get insurance. So I am naturally fucked there, of course.

This spring I took a day off and went to Brockville for Easter. I was there the day before Good Friday (Average Thursday?). I spent $50 and ten minutes and got my expired license renewed FOR FIVE FUCKING YEARS. I now have a valid Ontario driver's license until I am 33. Until 2008. Two thousand and EIGHT. For fifty bucks! (In Quebec, they rip you off by making you pay $100 for two years.) So I should be okay right? Right?

Well that brings us to Friday, October 10. Like I said, I booked the thing online on September 18. Plenty of time. Just to be on the safe side, I called them a day in advance to make sure that I had everything I needed, and to change the time I could pick up the vehicle. By then we had decided to drive to Ottawa to visit friends and to go to an erotic poetry reading. They told me that everything was fine and that I could pick up the car at 5 instead of 7.

I told Rose that I would treat her by picking her up from work, then running a few errands that require a car. I went to the downtown Avis and patiently waited for my turn. I thought that I was special. I had a reservation that I had checked and everything.

Rosie, the woman taking care of me looked every bit the tightass. Like diamond-making tightass. Not Erica Rose Campbell tight ass, but Cameron Frye tightass. And since I didn't have a Quebec driver's license, I am not allowed to drive in Quebec, because if I get stopped, the cops can seize the car for 30 days, period. That means I have to pay for the car for 30 days. Residents of Quebec have 90 days to change their license over (recall that it took 90 days for me to make an appointment to take a goddamn picture). I really wish someone would have told me this, though. It could have saved a lot of time. In fact, I might have gone across the street to Locations Pelletier, where they are completely unaware of such a law. "We have regular customers that have driver's licenses from France, I don't see what the problem is." The manager agreed. They have had problems in the past at Avis, so they aren't taking any chances. It could be that other rental places are taking chances. Who knows?

Rose had to cab it all the way from the north end of the city to see what she could do with her learners license (I did ask if it were okay, since she only got her license in June, they said it was.) Rose finally showed up. Everything looked great, until the manager noticed that the license expired on July 28. That's right. In Quebec, new licenses are only good for less than two months before you have to renew them again. I guess I am out of the loop, since I havwe been a "driver" in good standing for nearly 12 years, or so I thought. So she couldn't rent, either.

At this point I'd like to point out that the liquor control board here has almost the same name as the auto control board (SAQ vs SAAQ). I don't know what that has to do with anything, but it seems telling somehow. It almost implies that the people at the SAAQ are drunk.

We went to dinner somewhere, and that is when I started to come apart somewhat. I was close to tears. Because you see, it isn't so much about the car, and all the inconvenience that I experienced isn't quite so bad either. It's the fact that I felt like some kind of illegal. Not only an illegal, but an illegal kid. Kids can't rent cars, and neither can illegals. Other 28-year-olds can rent cars whenever they need to. They can pretty much do whatever they want. They have houses and cars (sometimes) and wives and husbands and kids and good jobs and great lives. I have a two-bedroom apartment filled with useless crap.

I couldn't even own a car if I wanted to, because I fucking suck. I couldn't buy a house like normal people, because...I have no idea. I'm sure there would be problem after problem with it. I'm not fucking good enough to do anything I really want to do. I could probably fly on a plane if I could afford it, but even then, I would have problems, just be-fucking-cause. It's like society just doesn't like the way I live, and they don't want to bestow normal privileges upon me. And I am a pretty normal guy, I think. Imagine the frustration that the real weirdos out there must feel. (Was that an "othering" I just did? Was that sentence "bad"?)

Friday night I felt more like a second-class citizen than I have in years. More than that incident of racism I had in January. I am an adult who hasn't done anything wrong, but is so stupid he can't even rent a fucking car. Everything just came to a head, I guess.

And you know what? I think the only way to get a Quebec drivers license is to start from the beginning, with the graduated licensing system. Like a 16-year-old kid. My 17-year-old nephew announced over the weekend that he is now G2, which means that he can drive by himself. How fucking nice. Maybe I'll be able to do that someday. If I study hard...

We went to the train station to buy return train tickets for $100 a pop. (It's a 2-hour trip.) The dinner I had started to turn my stomach. I eventually had to make myself puke like I did last winter before I knew I had an ulcer. When I finally fell asleep with Rose, I dreamt of moving freely where I want.

A 43 -year-old woman opened fire on the members of a church this morning, killing the pastor and her mother before killing herself. I'm all for equal opportunity, but this is ridiculous.

In local news, the Journal de Montreal, a French-language paper out of Montreal that ranks just above tabloid, recently did an exposé on the racism in Montreal. The major caption says, "Seven Days in the Skin of a Black Man". It's a rather maddening story, and it makes me sick that this shit still happens in Montreal in 2003.

In Longueuil, on the south shore of Montreal, is a bar called Surf. Our "undercover brother" went with a "real brother" to try to get some beers. I am not sure if they knew the policy of this bar before going in, what here is what happened.

As soon as they went in, a couple of waitresses started whispering to each other and looking over. The two men sat down and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally, a busboy approached them and said:

"Sorry guys, the girls aren't allowed to serve you people."

"What do you mean, 'you people'?"

"You people."

"?"

"You people. Not you two there, but...you people. You people."

"What, our people??"

"Okay, you people...of darker complexion..."

"You mean, black people?"

"Yes, well, not just blacks (now he is free to say "blacks" because the ice has been broken by those blacks), but hispanics, whatever."

"Why?"

"Me, I dunno. The boss told me so about three weeks ago."

"What's the reason?"

"You'll have to ask the boss. It seems as though some things happened, there were problems."

They had an interview with the bar owner. The guy justified his actions by saying that there was no racism, it's just business. He had instances where three blacks were sharing a Pepsi (not profitable) and another bar in the area was held up by a black man. So there's his justification right there, I guess. He also goes on to say that he has 20 years in the business, and that everyone should bow to his experience.

This is just the beginning. There will be six more installations. Rose is collecting all of them. Reader comments will be coming in soon, too. I imagine that there will be far more that support the owners' actions than the Journal would care to print.

Rose is a very sick woman.

She seems to have caught the 36-hour flu. I was supposed to get my Wednesday night massage. She wanted to show me her new moves. But she IM'd late yesterday afternoon saying that she was going to be sick (she meant that she was getting sick, cut her some slack, she's French). When I saw her last night at 6:10 she had just gotten home 10 seconds earlier. She had picked up some natural curative items like liquid echinacea and oscillosomethingorother. The plan was to take some, and "lie down for about 20 minutes or so." Yeah, right. I knew better.

I set about fixing her computer, then I went to the store to pick up some food (for me, pretty much. She never moved from that spot until 7 am this morning). I ate, finished with the computer and then fell asleep with her after talking for about two hours.

During this time, I guess around 4:30 am, I had a dream. My ex-boss, Sylvie had been in the dream doing lots of other things as well earlier. I figured that he had had enough of Corporate Canada and was trying out different things such as espionage, maitre'd-ing and gameshow hosting. Somehow, I'm watching all of this on "TV". It may not have actually been TV, but I was watching events as though it were.

Then I was watching a variety show or something hosted by The Tragically Hip. Elton John was the special guest. But the Hip wasn't the Hip. There was a keyboardist. It was Sylvie. And there were a couple of other guys from work in the band. Elton John says that they've created a new song for him and the Hip. I sounded like a Beach Boys rock tune. And the lead singer (for that song only) was none other than Sylvie.

At that point in the dream I decided that this was too fucked and I woke up.