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surviving a tornado


It’s unfortunately true that the most obnoxious of interruptions are usually the most entertaining and memorable. The lasting impression of the imposter sticks to your skin like a spreading rash. Only the aloe of time will take away the burning redness. The longer you are exposed, the greater the affliction.

If you’re smart, you’ll speed your recovery by learning from the faults of others. If you face these disruptions with amusement rather than disdain, you’ll find any intrusion easy to take. Roll with the punches.

Seated in a hotel bar with a dear girlfriend, it was supposed to be an evening of supporting each other’s endeavours and cheering one another on with our invisible pompoms.

What we got was an arrogant baritone voice pulling up his own uninvited chair to our table. He had met my girlfriend, Sasha, the previous weekend, and while he thought he had made progress, she had breathed a sigh of relief when she had evaded successfully.

Brian sat at the table next to us and it wasn’t until he had ordered his drink that he looked over to us, instantly recognizing the belle who had escaped his meaty hands. The elation could be seen in his eyes and her shock was written all over her face. It was a meeting she had hoped never to have again. Yet here he was, eager to resume his wooing.

He came on strongly. Immediately seguing into a diatribe on his new business. Riddling his story with facts and figures too outlandish to be true. He claimed he had played in the NHL in the nineties. Yet a Google search of the name on his business card the next day produced no such records. His lying was as automatic as a sneeze. Uncontrollable.

He returned to his table to await a friend. Joining him was a “business associate” – a woman dressed for a shady night out on the Vegas Strip, not a business meeting in an upscale hotel bar. It was as though a cannonball had rolled into the room. We were all waiting for the explosion. Her voice could be heard above the music, and other diners were turning towards her to stare in awe.

We watched and listened as she spied an actor at the bar. I didn’t recognize him, but she grew ecstatic. She immediately leapt from her chair to get a picture with him, but instead, she gave him her phone number. She returned with his phone and hotel room number written on a napkin. I was stunned at the cliché.  All it took was five minutes of conversation for her to be invited to dinner and a massage in his room. Was she really a “business associate”?

Her drama escalated when she received a phone call from her boyfriend saying her dog was vomiting. She burst into tears and shrieked, “I can’t have anything else happen right now!” She was on her own stage and we were forced to watch her performance.

As she hung up the phone, she sobbed to Brian about her dog possibly dying at this very moment and leapt from the table to go to its rescue. The whirlwind of activity which lasted a mere fifteen minutes had left our skin crawling. Imagine living life as one big drama. My heart would arrest.

With Brian’s meeting abruptly cut short, he left the bar, but not before picking up our tab on the way out.

Lessons from a bar stool:

1. Drama isn’t necessary to keep your life interesting.

2. Handing out your hotel room number on a napkin to someone you’ve spent five minutes speaking to is a clear indicator of what game you play.

3. In the age of the interwebs, lying will always be discovered.

4. Picking up a girl’s tab doesn’t entitle you to anything. But thanks for the kind gesture.

5. Dogs vomit. Humans vomit. Doesn’t mean death is in the cards. Breathe.


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Comments

Ellegentsia
Reply

Came across your blog from the Province through an unrelated search… I’m based out of Toronto.

Thoroughly enjoy your writing style.

talesfromabarstool
Reply

Thank you so much for reading! :)

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