You've changed

Well, it's Vancouver outside; I don't know why I think I can still get away without having an umbrella. The power is restored, and the silence broken with the hum of the refrigerator and that ticking sound (what do I own that ticks?...Looked into it, it's the water cooler, hope the ticking is normal). I figured now is a good time to blog and double the number of posts I've written. You know, now that I've survived the power outage and life is able to go on. How in the hell did cave people manage?

I believe I promised to dedicate this blog to the first time Boyfriend and I met. It was about five years ago and I was working in a Kelowna restaurant as a server. The place I worked was attached to a hotel, and the average age of our clients was probably around seventy. Yes, liver and onions were on the menu. No, I've never tried it, never will, and frankly (my apologies to this restaurant) every plate that came out of that kitchen looked nasty. Not that this meant I never ate there... the grilled cheese was good. But I digress. Generally, our "dinner" rush was over by five-thirty and the rest of the night was generally spent gossiping with the other hens and counting down the seconds until close. I don't know why we stayed open until midnight, the hours weren't worth the twenty dollars I was left with when my shift ended.

A fellow came in to the restaurant by himself one evening and asked me where I was from. I said, Canada, would you like me to teach you to french? And then we made out. That is how our relationship started; it was a damn fairy tale. Just kidding. I'm kind of an unreliable narrator.

What actually happened:

One night at work I had a table of four men that came over from the hotel. I went over to say hi and offer bevvies (assuming the old guys -- sorry boys -- would order tea or hot water with lemon as most customers do). Not so much the types to do that. Boyfriend was at the table, and I disliked him right away. The three silver-haired dudes and one thirty-something guy (this is Boyfriend, he still has dark hair so that means he's still young) were all super loud and obnoxious and I wanted to get rid of them, especially the young guy. They came in demanding caesars to drink. Sorry dudes, no caesars here. We have bottles of beer and two kinds of Mike's Lemonade, but that's all I can offer. There's a pub right around the corner there... (It too, was attached to the hotel, it would take literally fifteen seconds to get there, that's like the length of a sneeze.) I'm not sure why I thought this would work, I'm too charming, they couldn't leave if they wanted too. Or they just saw opportunity to drive me insane. Whichever.

At this point, Boyfriend pipes up and demands I go to said pub and fetch them some caesars.

What are you, drunk?
Somewhat.
Fantastic (sarcasm, clearly).
We'll take the beers.

They just got to town for a hockey tournament and enjoyed a bounty of refreshments on the four-hour ride. Lucky me. And lucky them because for the rest of their meal, I think Boyfriend ordered steak and eggs of all things (I beg your pardon, this is irrelevant to the story), they got to put up with my attitude. For some reason, servers pay attention here, dudes love to be verbally abused when you serve them. They find it delightful and will tip you more for it. I don't know the science behind it, but they think you're hilarious. On a side note, once I kicked a customer, I made lots of dollars (no sarcasm) and fyi, he accidentally kicked me first. Just sayin'.

Throughout their breakfast-at-dinnertime meal, Boyfriend keeps asking the whereabouts of his caesar.

I told you, dumbass, next door.
Well hop to it, I'm thirsty.
Not happening, man. Go get it yourself and don't come back.
You've changed.
For the record, I certainly have not, and I resent that you keep saying that I have.

And the man keeps challenging me. We engage in a battle of wits, his amigos jump from his side to mine and back again. Thanks for the support boys. The meal ends, I'm thinking he has to make an exit soon, yes? Yes. They're off to the pub. Seeya suckers! And then it happens...

When do you get off work?
You're kidding, yes?
No, come to the pub when you're done.

Uh... now I talk a good game, but for some reason I can't tell him to fuck off like the losers of my past. I don't know why. To this day I have no idea. Voodoo methinks.

I go to the pub when work ends. I figured I'd stick around for a drink then bolt -- Boyfriend you know I always need an escape plan, you could've been a psycho -- except we actually talked. One drink turned into a few and he was actually cool when he wasn't being an arrogant prick.

You've changed dude.
No I haven't, I'm still drinking beer (at which point he holds up the bottle as proof).
That's not what I meant idiot.

I swear, it's a good thing he's cute. That's how we met. I later found out from Boyfriend and one of his elderly hockey friends that after they left that trip he told them we would end up together. I hate when he's right. We didn't actually start dating until like two years later. But more on that with each blog entry.

Time for tea,

K