February 21, 2006

• Ok, so I realise that my last post was a little heavy. In light of that, I think I'll post on the other thing that happened to me that day.

  You see, my co-worker normally brings in a DVD player. So Saturdays,
  even though they are the longest, are normally some of my favourite
  shifts. Well, today I brought in a stack of DVDs only to discover that
  he had lent it to his brother. Something had to be done. I was facing
  12 full hours with nothing to do.

  Well, I decided that I would get a magazine, if nothign else. The convenience
  store that I pass going to Tim Horton's doesn't have anything good, I
  know, so I journeyed off in an unknown direction.

  The first store was of little use, only having a few beauty magazines.

  My trip into the second store went sort of like this:

  [I look at the rack, and see nothing interesting]

  Me: Do you have and game magazines?

  Old Asian Store Clerk: Oh, yes, right there. [she points]

  [I look to the place where she points, and my eyes meet squarely with a large picture of a man's cock]

  [I cringe]

  Me: No, no, game magazines!

  [She gives me a wry smile]

  Old Asian Store Clerk: Is ok, we sell lots of these. Sell very well.

  Me: No, video games.

  Old Asian Store Clerk: Ohh, sorry, sorry, no, none of those.

  I couldn't help but imagine how I must have looked at that moment,
  walking in there with my security guard uniform and my beard asking for
  gay porn. I moved on promptly.

  I was walking north from King St., west of Young. There was a rather
  abrupt change in the atmosphere. Everything went from snobily expensive
  business-people area, to some kind of ghetto. I was flooded by requests
  from homeless, who soon had all my change. Well, I was feeling a little
  suspicious when I saw a middle aged Chinese man, dresses in what can
  only be termed Ghetto Fab, standing in the doorway of the next store.

  He says to me jeeringly: Ooohh, Paragon Security Guard! Important man coming into the store!

  Oh course, once I sidled past him into the store, the clerk was no
  help. He was even older, and all he did was laugh at the first man.
  Well, there wasn't any magazines apparent, so I moved on.

  He called after me as I walked away: Watch out for the Security Guard!

  Of course, then a homeless looking man eyed me suspiciously and said: Are you a Cop!?

  Me: No.

  He eyes me hard, and keeps walking muttering to himself.

  Well, I was feeling a little discouraged, so when the next store was
  locked, I was inclined to go back empty handed. Only a Muslim girl came
  running out form the back gesturing that I come in. Of course I
  gestured that the door was locked. Then a man came out from the same
  place (looking very suspicious, I must say) and took his time slowly
  making his way to opened the door, not getting the right key until the
  5th or 6th try. It turned out they didn't have any magazines, and told
  me to try to grocery across the street. So I left the suspicious couple
  behind.

  The grocery, though it didn't have any good magazines, was at least manned by normal people.

  Well, at this point I reconsidered my thought of turning back. I was
  reminded of Harold and Kumar, and their epic quest for
  self-fulfillment. I resolved then: I would not go back to work until I
  had found something to read. I would not be put off by my sexuality
  being questioned, or subtle accusations of some kind of persecution. No,
  I would get myself a magazine.

  My resolve yielded well, for just around the corner, like some kind of
  shinning Gem of Commercialism in the mire of East Toronto, stood a
  Shopper's Drugmart Superstore. Brand new, and massive. I found there a
  copy of Wired, and over the next few hours I read it cover to cover.
  The magazine meant so much more for the trials of the acquisition.

  It was good.

  • 2:59 pm
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