Let
me begin by saying I've been somewhat of an introvert for the last
three years. Naturally though, I'm a chatty motherfucker, and I love
to meet new people. Cities are a great place to do this, especially
big cities like Vancouver. I don't have to walk more than three
blocks to meet skaters, people on their lunch break, construction
workers and mostly harmless homeless people – or, people who smell
homeless. A big variety, is what I['m trying to get at. I'll cite
some examples from the last three days.
Day
1, I'm dying for a cigarette. I've made it to the stage where I don't
have any of my own, but I bum or buy, or trade, for one around
eight-nine o'clock ish at night. I've only got a looney, and I'm
hoping to get one for tomorrow too, so I don't have to meander about
downtown Van in the dark. I trudge up to the library, grumpy and not
expecting to have much luck; I haven't seen a single smoker go past.
My spidey sense tingles as I pass two men in their forties on the
steps.
“Hey
there, do either of you gentlemen smoke? Could I buy one or two off
ya?”
“No,
no, here, just have one, here's a few for the road!”
“Thank
you, sir, how's your evening going?”
I
sit and chat with Chris Seymoure, allegedly a world bridge champion
(google search turned up two plausible results), and Kevin. Chris
just about chats my ear right off my head; bridge this, my old lady
that. I learn that 'my old man' would not be my father like i
previously thought, but my boyfriend. Ontarians and their slang... :P
I'm
quite interested in Kevin though, he keeps piping in with very
conscious, aware observations, and just has a very grounded vibe. He
seems to get irritated with Chris, and leaves. I finish their gift of
a Palm Bay, and head back home to bed.
Halfway
back, a baby faced Native guy asks if he can bum a smoke. Knowing
exactly how he feels, I feel bad saying no, but I've only got the one
and it's for tomorrow.
“I'm
sorry man! But if you've got a second, I'll you the story of why I
can't...”
We
talk while he rolls a cigarette of butt sluts, just fucking gnarly. I
don’t even want to know where the butts came from.
“Birch
bark trees, you know them? Ever seen a birch bark tree in the summer?
Seen a birch bark tree in the fall? Winter? They're totally dead in
the winter, they start dying in the fall. But Spring! Birch bark
trees come back to life in the spring!”
“Like
a phoenix,” I comment, grinning over how many times he's said Birch
Bark tree in stumbling to make his point.
'Exaaaactlyyyyy,
man, like a phoenix!” He shakes his head, laughing. “Where do you
come from? I mean – wha – why are you here? Just.,.. where the
fuck did you come from, man,”
he yells, flailing his arms at me like a seriously smashed Vanna
White.
“I'm
a faerie elf, I mean a wood elf,” I laugh, knowing I actually am a
little forest creature.
Day
2: School lets out at five. The Science Park is still sunny and warm,
dotted with older men browned by the sun like caramelized sugar.
Feeling particularly confident and empowered, I find a nice flat spot
to practice Pigeon pose. An hour and a half later, I head home,
taking a shortcut through one of the arenas. I remember Chris and
Kevin telling me about a skate park of sorts being down at the Terry
Fox memorial/monuments, and on a whim, I decide to go check out the
scene. In all honesty, I wanted a smoke, and was feeling lonely. What
better way to counteract that than to interact with strangers!
For
a few minutes, I stand on the sidelines, feeling like a bit of a
creep. I'm enjoying my iPod, scoping out the skaters and getting a
sense of not only who smokes, but who is most likely to let me trade
for one. There's a group of four guys who look to be on the edge of
early-mid twenties, inching towards late; 26-27 at the most, I
thought, but more likely 23-24. Next to them are two men, one
obviously older, drinking beers and basically oohing and aahing over
the skaters. I decide to approach the younger of the two older men,
since the four guys are doing that thing where they check me out in
what they think is
ninja-style. I smile at them, they look away; I laugh to myself and
walk over.
“Hey
man, do you think I could bum a smoke off you?” I smile, already in
“endearingly-cute mode”, an effect of being around so much
testosterone.
“Pff!
You can have a few, my dear! Would you like a beer?”
I
sit and chat with Richard, and a bit with his uncle Ron, for a couple
hours. Initially Rich is a pretty chill guy, talking about working up
in the oil fields versus working down here as a rodbuster
(*snicker*), his kids, his ex and his medical marijuana connection.
After an hour though, he's repeating himself, and I start focusing my
energy on the skater in the Ron Burgundy shirt.
I
let him know I'm watching him, dropping any ninja-style tactics that
I might have had going on. When Richard gets up to piss on a wall
around the corner, Burgundy-guy comes over to his friends. Feeling
really drawn to his energy, I'm sick of waiting for him to come
introduce himself.
“Hey
man, what's your name? John? Nice to meet you, I'm Rbonka. Where are
you from?”
John
takes a seat against the wall next to me, leaving Rich's 'spot' open.
Rich and I are sharing a joint, which I offer to John, knowing he'll
chat a lot longer if I do. He starts rolling one of his own, and we
talk about his lower back getting hurt the other day, going to the
Vapour Lounge and him being my practice yoga student. When it's been
dark for an hour or so, Rich and Ron leave, Rich obviously pissed at
Ron because Ron doesn't want to stay and chat with me. John and his
friends remain, and god it's like dealing with a bunch of girls, I
swear. The conversation dies, and I have to carry it, which quite
frankly is exhausting so I gap out while they discuss a pro retiring
to run his dads company. I'm bored, this has run its course. I grab
Johns number and am making a sandwich at home in 5 minutes,.
Day
3. Last night I was laying in bed, feeling lonely. I wanted a
cigarette, but more, I just wanted to have a conversation.
As a very general rule, weed is the best social tool for a young'in
in Vancouver, or anywhere in BC actually, as every third person you
pass likes to partake. Whether it's once in a blue moon, or every
three hours, there's someone within shouting distance who likes to
get high. Cigarette smokers, on the other hand, are increasingly
becoming a rarity (Where are we on the endangered list, I'd like to
know>?). So I whip my supplies into my purse, a consolation prize
if I cant win a deathstick.
There's
no one out at the Terry Fox memorial/monuments, save for a creepy
dude huddled over a backpack in his lap. I sit on a block far away
from him and quietly take in the surroundings. Just as I'm thinking
I'll go smoke-free tonight, a woman comes out of a nearby pub and
sits next to a running Terry statue. Without hesitation, I get up,
and feeling like a great white, glide purposefully towards her. I'm
wondering why I'm going to her, she doesn't strike the Spidey Sense
as a good candidate, but my legs keep going, confident that's where
I'm supposed to be.
“Hi
there, I'm Rbonk. Do you think I could bum a smoke off you?”
She
doesn't have any others, but calls out to the man walking towards us,
calling him Chef. He goes back to the pub and when he gets back,
tosses a pack of cigarettes at me. The three of us talk about the
text-to-landline robot lady voice, the woman giggling over all the
dirty things her friends have texted to her landline.
“That
bitch'll say anything! Can you imagine ... the lady had to actually
sit there and say those words for the robot to know!” She finishes
her smoke, smiles and tells me she's got to go back to work. Chef
takes her spot on the steps beside me, and we talk about languages,
accents, the importance of stretching for the same duration as a
sustained muscle contraction, and planning out the best munchies
before even toking, Our cigarettes have long since been stubbed out,
and he's got to head back to work, but the conversation is
effortless. I'm really enjoying having blown his mind with the whole
stretching thing.
“Do
you come down here every night? If you're up to it, you should come
back tomorrow, we could get a beer and have a smoke when I get off
work.”
“Well
I'm eighteen, but a smoke and chat would be great! I can bring my
supplies too if you'd like to try, yea for sure man, when do you get
off?” So I have plans to go back tonight, around the same time.
As
soon as the Chef's left, I feel more than see a twenty something
eyeing me up across the steps. I look at him, smiling invitingly, and
say hello.
“Hi!
I just have, uh, one question, I don't mean to annoy you, but, can
you just smoke anywhere here? Like, do you have to worry about the
cops?” I try to place his accent, a sort of Australian, but it
lilts all over the place so much I figure it's a speech impediment.
Like when I met Jean-Paul, not Sean-Paul,
like I thought.
The
new guy turns out to be a Californian visiting Vancouver with his
dad. It's his last night here, and he went sky diving earlier in the
day. I watch the video; we chat non-stop for an hour and a half
before he's running back to his hotel, hilariously one building away
from my digs.
Making
friends with strangers is awesome. You don't have to worry about
winning their approval or impressing them, because you can walk away
at any time and it doesn't matter. Honestly, you'll probably never
see the person again, unless you take steps to ensure you will ;p. If
you get bored, you can make up an appointment or class, whatever, and
leave. If you don’t want to be YOU for a day, hey, why not be
someone a little different. It's kind of like dress up, but with
people and personalities.
I'm
guilty of liking to use people as sounding boards for my ideas. I
also like to teach them what I learned that day, or a few days before
at school, because it cements it in my brain. It doesn't hurt either,
when a twenty-eight year old, thirty-two year old, forty-something
year old, is flipping out and just ecstatic to be talking to you
because ... you are you, and not like anyone else they can think of
at the time. And before I make it out to be a pure ego pump-up for
myself, and important part of this whole thing is listening to them.
There are some seriously interesting people out there, smart,
hilarious, ridiculous and practical people out there, with lots of
things to share. City streets are a goldmine of information, and I'm
tapping this resource.
