| It's noon as warmish sunlight filters down through the canopy of Stephen Avenue's metal "trees." The Peanuts’ version of "Oh Christmas Tree" plays from a storefront. Indian fall has arrived. It's a little later and cooler than Indian summer, and like our famous Chinook, it has a similar effect on downtown office workers, pulling them to street level to stroll and lunch in relative temperateness. And, to borrow from the greatly intemperate David Lee Roth, they're crazy from the heat. Just listen.
"It's pretty warm," observes a short, balding man.
"It's too warm," counters his taller friend. "Need some cold to build up the ice. We're thinking of going ice fishing up to Beaver Lake. We need it at least 85 feet thick for safety," he laughs. "So the kids don't go through it."
Like 84 feet won't do? Just how obese are your children? Did I mention that Indian Fall's one tradition is going downtown and making fun of people? It's a surliness booster shot against Xmas's excessive cheer.
"I used to go out on the frozen sloughs on the farm," recalls bald man, "but I tend to be pretty cautious." In the olden days sloughs were said to be like smallish Great Lakes and not the duck-ass-deep moist spots of today. In other words: Baldy's scared of sloughs! Baldy's scared of sloughs!
Speaking of the good old days, two former friends run into each other going opposite directions. She looks anxious to get going. He wants to catch up.
"Hi, how are you?" he smiles. "Last time I saw you, you were in the hospital."
"Yeah, uh, I'm just down here with my family. They're at the liquor store." Ah, it is just like old times – the family that drinks together succumbs to alcohol poisoning and spends the night at the Foothills together. "Are your parents still travelling?" she offers impatiently.
"Yeah, we're going to Thailand together." He attempts to keep the conversation going as she angles for flight. "So do you see anyone around these days?"
"No, I don't see much of anyone these days." Pause. "Anyway," she says and bolts. No, I understand, liquor trumps conversation any day. Plus you've gotta lick that sobriety monkey before the holidays. Other walkers on the mall are cheery, Christmas parties on the brain.
"And they were pelting them with eggs," an excited woman explains to her co-worker. "They took photos of them covered with eggs, chocolate sauce and ketchup. It's just something they do over there. They were all tied up."
"Wouldn't that hurt?" he asks. "Eggs bouncing off you? That doesn't sound like the best party game."
Well sir, the new Trivial Pursuit rules are kind of tricky but you've got to admit they liven up the room.
Two young women are in search of the office-worker's favourite fuel and they've sensed a tremor in the Force. "Yeah," explains one, "there's a new food court I haven't been to yet. I think it's been there for a year and a half." Order the combo platter you will. (It's a Star Wars gag. Get it? It's Yoda. You know, the wise little Muppet with the..? Oh, kiss my ass.)
’Tis the season to be growly (for e.g., screw you Yoda-hater!). A well-dressed man talks on a cell phone. He's got an early start on the Yuletide bah-humbuggery. "It basically has to do with she's being an idiot. What it has to do with is she's saying that I'm being prejudicial and I don't care." He pauses, listening. "Well yeah, I'm being prejudicial by assuming the fact that she's a professional. I mean if she's gonna sue?"
Sheesh, the woman gives birth to a guy and she thinks she can tell him what's what.
Five fancy lasses strut down the avenue. Their loud talking swivels heads. "She's the loud and obnoxious one," shrieks the leader of the pack. "I'm the thoughtful one! Are we crossing?" she wonders/shrieks as the pack are halfway across 1st Street SW. Walking against the light, they're stopping traffic.
Riddle me this, thoughtful one: Are you needing a reminder to breathe?
Two business chums talk shop. "Now the guys that were coming to pump the stuff," says one, "it's all about the origin of the substance and who's trying to hustle it. They're snake oil salesmen is what they are." Says the other: "I've gotta go to the drug store."
Apparently Calgary's oilmen now practice safe substance hustling. (Buy a pack of Trojans you will. Again, kiss my ass.)
Happy Indian Fall to you and remember: look both ways before you and your terribly obese kids hit the ice. |
