So the other day mooretalkja blogged that you know you're Jamaican when the uninvited third party enters the conversation as if they started it. Sigh.
Well you know you're in Canada when someone randomly starts having the most meaningful of conversations with you. Why? the unfortunate situation is this- you are there when the thought crosses their mind.
So yesterday I am going to buy lotion. 10 flights down and maybe a hop skip and jump to the smoke and gift and this is an easily resolved problem. But yesterday the universe was against me.
I step outside and I find myself face to face with what looks like a recovering drug addict.A small white woman in twead green sweater, eyes-crossed but still very wide-eyed in combat mode with the elevator button. So I do the Jamaican thing. I put my hands in my pocket and look away with a fast prayer in my head saying "elevator come, elevator come".
So she begins to ask me if I was visited by a City of Toronto fireman and if he happened to give me his number. So I said "No." Al the while trying to give most unfriendly Jamaican face but I find Canadians them committed when dem a chat off yuh head yuh nuh. so the elevator comes and its full so her shutting up rests in the hands of maybe she won't want to tell the ENTIRE elevator. No such luck. This woman went on and on and to through salt, pepper and oregano into my wounds the elevator was in high demand- how it just a stop at every floor suh and a tek in people. by the 7th floor its 7 of us, a dog and all our winter garb huddled like chunk tuna in the elevator. BUT SHE IS STILL LOOKING UP, OVER AND AROUND THE WOMAN WITH HER DOG to talk to me. big Sigh. By the third floor she has decided she is telling her story to the entire elevator and when she laughs she looks at everyone in the elevator for laughter support. *straight face* *blank stare* *bitch shut up eyes* and my face is screaming *whhhhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyy meeeeeee?* kind of like the cartoon Lizzie Maguire who does what she really wants to do.
And we finally make it to the lobby and it seems we are heading our separate ways she touches me- the recovering cokehead with the crossed eyes touches me. [Insert me swallowing my inner Jamaica like Buckleys cough syrup here] she touches me to stop me from walking away so she can finish her story. And my face is saying "God woman, seriously how lonely can you be?" And then I look at her and it all makes sense.
And then she goes "So i'm heading to the main office to make a complaint so he doesn't ge ton the property again and then I am heading to the City of Toronto office to complain to them and I have his business card with call me written on it as evidence. He won't prey on me in my singleness." And she walks off and standing in front of my building I look at the smoke and gift and say to myself "fuck you lotion, just fuck you!"