May 9, 2008

A Tale of Two Cities

I went on a couple of road trips this semester, one to Montreal over spring break and one to D.C. a few weeks later. Looking back upon these trips, I realized that my experiences in each city reflected fairly accurately the identity of the city itself.

The Montreal visit began on St. Patrick’s Day with dinner at a French-Canadian existentialist cafĂ© called “L’etranger,” where our server, a drunk, crazy ginger, denied Smilowitz the BBQ sauce that he was promised on the menu. Later on, at the local Irish pub, we encountered the same ginger waitress who Smilo then proceeded to hit on the remainder of the evening addressing her only as “BBQ sauce.” The Montreal afternoons were bitterly cold and, therefore, consisted primarily of sleeping, playing "darts" with Umair, and playing Pokemon Snap for Nintendo 64. We spent our final night at Brutopia where we drank quality Canadian beer for 11 hours straight, played shuffleboard, listened to hippie chick and Rasta dude jam, and met some uggos who were also on spring break from NYU.
After Brutopia and a failed search for poutine, we found a knocked-over parking meter, which we decided to carry the ten plus blocks back to Smilo’s with the intention of smuggling it back into the U.S. But with a few blocks to go, some Canadian guy started to follow us.

“Hey boys, where’d ya get that sign, eh?”
“We found it on the street.”
“A lot of police driving around here at this time… you might wanna put it down, eh?”
(By the way it’s 4:45 am; there are no cops anywhere nearby)
“I’m not too worried about it.”
“I think you should put it down, or I might have to call the police myself, eh.”

We froze. I laughed. Is this guy serious? We continued to walk, but he continued to follow and started to dial. I was ready to call his bluff but my friend who was helping me carry the heavy meter dropped his end and we peaced. We circled the block once figuring the guy would be gone and we could pick it up again. But no, he was still on the phone with the police standing tall with Canadian pride over the felled parking meter. Once again, it’s 4:45 am.

The D.C. trip also proved to be a good time, even though it started with us getting pulled over, while listening to 99 problems, for blocking the intersection. In D.C., we spent most of our time in the GWU neighborhood which, although very nice, wouldn’t sell beer after 10:00pm. Since the weather was much better than it is in either New York or Montreal at the same time of year, we decided to play some pick up football next to the Vietnam Memorial our whole second day there. We were short on players so we recruited some local black guys who were about our size… and then realized all but one of them were sophomores in high school. And the one who wasn’t a sophomore was a five-foot tall, 100 pound 12 year-old named V.J. who had moves like you wouldn’t believe. I’m talking “you-tube highlight reel before he’s even out of high school” kind of moves, so I can’t say I was ashamed when he opened up shop on our asses.
That night we went to a famous diner just outside the city. Our waiter was a fat, wrinkly, creepy-looking, pale old white guy with homosexual tendencies whose gut was bulging out of his tight polo shirt fit for a 15 year-old Gap male model. When our food was taking long to come, he apologized and explained to us that some men had sat at the counter and were ordering directly from the cooks. He pointed at the men, some African-American fellows, and frustratingly mumbled, “They’re messing up all the orders… I wish I had some lighter fluid.” To this we responded with nervous smiles and then got the fuck out of there.

Montreal is a nice city, but it’s still in Canada.
D.C. is most certainly part of the South.
No one likes Charles Dickens.
Photographing Pokemon is the highest artistic pursuit of man.
Black peeps can fuckin’ ball… end of story.


The Hebrew Hammer said...

for the record, phil and zack made out with the nyu uggos while i hit on hippie chick (who herself was not necessarily a non-uggo).

qualitypoop said...

I want a black peep for my 3 on 3 basketball squad.

If that is racist I'm blaming it on the Greeks...intolerant assholes.

almost everyone said...

i have a hard time believing that phil wasnt more of a bitch when it came to the guy calling th police. i need some verification that phils wasnt a pussy from someone else who was there.

method man said...

Assume the position, stop look and listen
I spit on your grave then I grab my Charles Dickens