VicNotes 3: Meals and Wheels

Hola. Which is, of course, different than ‘Holla’… which you’re not allowed to yell back at me unless you REALLY want Gwen Stefani to give you a hard time. What IS a Hollaback Girl in any case?

Day 7 – the one week mark – was the 29th of May, and it featured what I felt would be a likely comedy goldmine. I was going to tackle my bike. I mean, not literally, though there may have certainly been physical aggression at some point towards it. No, I mean the actual putting together of chains and metal bits using those screw-turner things and the squeezers and so forth. Doubtless I would have hilarious stories about wheels on backwards, gears chewing up my hands, handlebars being upside down… you know… Rivers stuff.

Nothing. Not so much as a slight glimmer of hilarity. I needed to adjust my handlebards by about a half of an inch on their left/right alignment, and that was it. Hunh. Of course, I did end up carrying the entire thing over my shoulders a few blocks in search of an air pump, since I couldn’t figure out how to work my handheld one. Nothing quite like taking your bike out for a walk on a boiling summer day. I also discovered that my gears currently sound rather like Mickey Mouse.

After doing some caching, then crashing in the evening, I spent the next day being summarilty rejected for work at The Keg and Chandler’s, meaning my list of possible places had shrunk considerably. In an effort to cheer myself up, I found a few nearby caches and went to do them. Now… I took my bike, which is missing its climbing gears owing to them not working. This seemed like a clever idea. I probably, though, should have realized that ‘Summit Park’ was not likely to be easily accessible by bike. As it turns out, it really wasn’t. To get there, I had to take streets named, literally, “Highview”, “Bellevue”, “Vista Heights” and “The Rise”. Who the heck puts a park at the top of a mountain in the middle of a city?! When I saw I had to go up ‘The Rise’, I think I nearly gnawed through my helmet’s chinstrap.

Now… while I was cycling up these hills, I passed a desk that looked to be in good condition. It was only about a kilometer away from my apartment, so I figured I’d go back that night to claim it. I didn’t realize two things. First, that the desk weighed approximately 400 pounds. It, in a former life, worked in a prison. Not as a desk, no, but as a riot shield. This thing could withstand direct nuclear impact. This desk eats bedside tables for appetizers. This desk is badass. It’s made out of metal and huge slabs of wood and is about 5 feet long and 3 feet wide. So I managed to manoever it onto a shopping cart, down a massive hill and towards my apartment – worried I was going to be arrested for insanity the entire time – at 10:30 at night. I get it to the apartment, slowly work it up the stairs and into my front door, down the hall and go to put it in my room. This is the second thing I didn’t realize: it wouldn’t fit. I took the door off the hinges, I unscrewed the feet off the legs of the desk and I made it SO close. Literally, it didn’t fit by about 4 layers of paint. The Desk (it is worthy of capitalization) now sits in my living room, where it acts as a home defense system. My theory is that if anyone sees it, they will know the owner is not the kind of person to irritate.

The next morning – still reeling from the failed desk experiment – my across-the-hall bangs on my door to ask if I still need furniture. I say yes, and end up being introduced into the Iranian-Canadian community. A family was moving back to Iran – in some hurry, it appears – so in exchange for me moving them out, I was allowed to keep furniture. The link, as far as I can tell, was that my neighbour’s husband was friends with the sister of the woman who was moving out. I got Karl a free bed from the deal, along with a kitchen table and chairs and a dresser… so mission success.

Baseball was back, since at this point we’re on a Thursday, and I enjoyed the hilarity of it all. Afterwards we went to a local pub – Christie’s – and in my ever-expanding attempt to save money and calories, I ordered a small salad with low fat dressing and two Diet Cokes. Warren – one of the guys – also ordered me some testosterone, since apparently he felt I was lacking.

Right – yesterday, June 1st, I started the day by saying ‘Rabbit’. This is part of an old Chinese superstition that believes good luck is yours if you start the first day of a month by saying ‘Rabbit’. I have no idea why. Its like the rabbit’s paw thing… I mean…. obviously it didn’t bring the rabbit a whole lot of luck, hey? In any case, the day actually featured good luck – so I’m off to an auspicious start. I did two caches in the morning – including number 100 -, managed to snare an ‘on-the-job interview’ (basically a test shift) at a local restaurant for earlier today, and then went out with a friend in the evening. Victoria, in case you’ve missed it, is filled with young, idealistic hippies and old, jaded British people. As part of the evening, we did a bit of both. I had an almond burger with sprouts and a ‘JumpStart Juice’ for dinner, before retiring to a pub for Irish beverages afterwards. I have yet, by the way, to see any young, British, jaded hippies… but Im sure they’re around. Likely with pink hair.

Well – that catches us up today, but I’m out of words at this point… so I’ll just have to leave you wondering how the test shift went, and fill you in… in VicNotes 4: The Return of the Revenge of the Secret of the Lost… ummm…. Food Order.

Payyyce!!

Rivers