Not surprisingly given my damaged visage, it happened again this morning at Starbucks. Barrista Jenny, back here after a year working in New Zealand, was properly wide eyed upon being presented with the beat-up regular just back from the Edmonton wilds. Its getting to where Im inclining to embellishment just to liven things up, but I stuck to my story. For some reason I feel perennially compelled to divulge my errant attendance at the Transit Hotel, as if the sound of that seamy name should elicit shock and dismay. Sort of like when I happened to mention to a Gullmate who did most of her growing up in Winnipeg that Id made a habit of breakfasting at the Corona Hotel when I had a room in a house nearby. You stayed there? she exclaimed in horror. No, no. They had a great 99c breakfast special. Listen baby, the Corona aint got nothing on the Transit. Jennys a cute kid who looks younger than she is and really looks like she should be called Jenny. Not Jennifer or Jenn, but little Jenny. Her reaction to my fractured face was sympathetic but by no means over the top, which is more than I can say for some of my squeamish Gullmates. Of course, Jennys Dad is a great Ricky Nelson fan; a year ago she was trying to get rid of a Hello Marylou earworm, the result of her Dads commitment to midlife crisis guitar lessons. Shes a little bit country, as I say, and has now become a Rick fan, so is no stranger to things honky tonk, including sidewalk scars. No reaction to the Transit of course, but she bought my coffee. Hey I guess it pays, I said, pointing to my scab. Oh no, thats not the reason.
Posted on: Sun, 31 Aug 2014 18:34:46 +0000