![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Today I flew out from camp to Calgary. I had to work half a day on-site, which put me in a bit of a rush to do laundry, pack, get checked-in, etc. Sooo maybe I didn't plan all that properly. I finished and put away my fresh laundry (because I don't want to come back to a pile of dirty clothes) and put on my returning-to-Texas outfit. Maybe it was because I was in a hurry or maybe because my brain had already checked out, but apparently the fact that I'd been snow-covered and wearing 4 layers of clothing that morning had slipped my mind. I was only taking the clothes on my back with me because I want to travel light so I can bring back lots of cosplay stuff. A short-sleeved rayon shirt, jeans, and my jogging sneakers, that was it. When I get to Calgary, it's dark and snowing (AGAIN). At least this time I had the good sense to take a taxi to the hotel, but now I had to find food.
So that's how I found myself jogging down a city block towards the nearest fast food joint, nipples hard enough to cut diamonds, giggling at my own idiocy, picturing my parka hanging on a coat hook in my room 500 kilometers away and wondering whether I'll catch pneumonia or frostbite first. While I was hopping in place at an intersection waiting for the crosswalk signal to change, a bum approached me.
"Hey man, I ain't gonna lie. I'm trying to get seven bucks together to buy a bottle of gin. You think you can help me out?"
I'll pay for honesty. "I've got $5 you can have." And almost added, "I'll give you another $20 for that greasy hoodie of yours."
Money changed hands and I sprinted across the street to the Wendy's.
Only to find that it was already closed.
I used a new curse word I'd learned from the pile drivers this week and kept going to the Tim Horton's further down the street. By the time I got there I was shivering like a chihuahua with Parkinson's. I'm sure the cashier thought I was tweaking for a fix of something.
But man, that dinner was worth it.
Tomorrow, Austin! Fuck yeah!
P.S. Note to self: Don't forget to buy Crown Royal Special Reserve at the duty-free shop tomorrow. That's the liquor from that documentary that you couldn't remember for weeks. Get it and see if your tolerance has really dropped after a month of teetotalling!
So that's how I found myself jogging down a city block towards the nearest fast food joint, nipples hard enough to cut diamonds, giggling at my own idiocy, picturing my parka hanging on a coat hook in my room 500 kilometers away and wondering whether I'll catch pneumonia or frostbite first. While I was hopping in place at an intersection waiting for the crosswalk signal to change, a bum approached me.
"Hey man, I ain't gonna lie. I'm trying to get seven bucks together to buy a bottle of gin. You think you can help me out?"
I'll pay for honesty. "I've got $5 you can have." And almost added, "I'll give you another $20 for that greasy hoodie of yours."
Money changed hands and I sprinted across the street to the Wendy's.
Only to find that it was already closed.
I used a new curse word I'd learned from the pile drivers this week and kept going to the Tim Horton's further down the street. By the time I got there I was shivering like a chihuahua with Parkinson's. I'm sure the cashier thought I was tweaking for a fix of something.
But man, that dinner was worth it.
Tomorrow, Austin! Fuck yeah!
P.S. Note to self: Don't forget to buy Crown Royal Special Reserve at the duty-free shop tomorrow. That's the liquor from that documentary that you couldn't remember for weeks. Get it and see if your tolerance has really dropped after a month of teetotalling!
