One situation you don’t ever want to find yourself in is when you’re alone at a friend’s house, wearing nothing but a towel and answering the door to the police. You’d probably never imagine that scenario, but it happened this morning and I spent the rest of the day rather confused by the absurdity of it all.
Everything’s fine, it had to do with a neighbour’s house alarm going off. But now the Burnaby RCMP have my name and address (“how do you spell Pandosy?”) and possibly some notes about how I was found in a house that’s not my own and in a towel. It was pink. The police were wearing flak jackets. In Burnaby. Well, I suppose you gotta air those things out once in a while.
As you can surmise I was in Vancouver over the long weekend, and up until the end it seemed like it was just going to be fun but not strange in any way.
It seems I missed out while I was away, as a building up the creek from me asploded and dumped toxic stuff into said creek and now we’ve got our own little Gulf crisis where there are dead fishies in the creek (that I didn’t know actually had fish, which is just as well since it doesn’t now) and smart ducks that are staying out of the creek and hopefully smart humans who are staying out of Okanagan Lake but I wouldn’t count on it. Oh well, who needs nature when you have buildings going kablooey?
The Westjet flight attendant (male) called me “sweetheart” when I boarded the plane today. He needs to stop watching so much Mad Men.
That is all.
Funny, the waiter at the airport almost called me “sweetheart” today.