Just one of those days, man. I woke up to the sound of my roommates barking over the breakfast table, and they were their usual grumpy selves. Once upon a time, the idea of sharing a townhouse in the suburb of Barrhaven, Ontario, with a couple of guys sounded like a dream come true. Welcome to my nightmare. I showered, got dressed and got out.
"Hello there, I'll have the medium griot please," I said to the tall, short-haired and very pretty, chocolate-hued fortysomething Haitian lady behind the counter at Creole Sensations restaurant in the heart of Vanier. I waited for my meal, then paid and put the plate of brown rice, fried plantains and goat meat in a plastic bag, wrapped it and put it in my backpack. I dropped a toonie in the tip box, and then flashed the lady a bright smile as I headed out.
"Have a good day, Stephen, come again," said the owner, a stocky, bearded old Haitian dude who sat at a corner by the window, a copy of the Haitian newspaper Le Nouvelliste in his hand. I nodded at the old man and headed out. I've been coming here for years and years, you see. Once upon a time, I lived on Donald Street, a couple of blocks away. I love Haitian food and come to this restaurant as much for the cuisine as to connect with my people.
The day started rough with the rude awakening I got from my loud roommates, but now things were looking up. I crossed the street, dodging the usually murderous Vanier traffic and barely caught the number 12 bus going to Blair Station. The bus was packed, and I ended up sitting next to the proverbial old white dude. From the way this bozo looked at me, I knew I was in for something. Lo and behold, the old creep did not let me down.
"Cover up, please," I said sharply as the old white dude sitting next to me began flashing me a fake smile while coughing forcefully. I know that cough. White folks and certain other minorities like to do that around black folks. I know what I am talking about and I am not imagining things. I simply pay attention. The old dude looked at me angrily as if wondering whether or not I did address him. Yes old man, I am onto your passive aggressive racist bullshit. The old buzzard got out at the next stop, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
The other people sitting on the bus looked at me. I'm a big and tall black man in my late twenties. Even though I don't go to church anymore, I still wear my Sunday best every Sunday, out of habit. I look like I'm coming from church or something. When the bus reached Blair Station, I got off and went to Walmart, where I bought a couple of orange crush bottles. I crossed the street and headed to the Silver City movie theater, which some fool decided to rename Scotiabank Theater of Ottawa. Whatever. Same place with the overpriced food and unfriendly staff. Big frigging deal.
"Um, could you please watch it?" I said sharply to the dude walking in the row behind me, as I sat inside theater two. I decided to see the movie Independence Day, the new one without Will Smith. As is my custom, I sit in the very front of the movie theater. You know those four rows that are separated from the others, right next to the screen? I usually sit on the third or fourth. I like to be as far away as possible from the sneezing, coughing, spitting, seat-kicking and seat-bumping bozos patronizing the theater. Hail isolation!
The dude walking behind me, some burly white dude with a beard wearing a blue shirt, shot me a look but didn't say shit. I resumed watching the movie, and when it ended, I went to the washroom. Guess who I ran into in there? Mr. Blue Shirt. I "accidentally" bumped him with my elbow as I stood at the urinal next to his, and he got out of there pronto. Smirking, I finished my business then washed my hands. I exited the movie theater, and headed to Blair Station. I flashed my bright green summer U-Pass to the bus driver, a smiling young Indian woman in a blue uniform, and got on the bus.
"Damn she's cute," I whispered to myself as I eyeballed the hot Chinese chick in the long white shirt and booty shorts sitting across from me. The 95 heading to Tunney's Pasture Station had come by Blair and since I was heading to Bayview Station, it was right up my alley. It's Sunday, the very first Sunday after Canada Day 2016, and as far as I knew, the Carleton University campus was closed but I figured I'd find a computer and chill for a few hours.
The bus rolled on, barreling down the streets of Ottawa. The Asian cutie started bobbing her head this way and that, while listening to music with her headphones. Hot damn, I totally wanted to holler, but didn't get the chance. When the bus reached the University of Ottawa area, Miss Asian Cutie got off. I took one last look at her thick derriere in them shorts. Oh, Lord. Happy sigh. Hey, you don't think I scared her, do you? I have a habit of gawking when it comes to cuties with thick butts. Not my fault. It's encoded in my DNA.
As I reached Bayview Station, I turned on my phone, which I turned off in the theater, and realized I had thirty percent of my power left. To make matters worse, I realized that I left my phone case somewhere. It's a real special one, given to me by an alumni of Carleton University. Damn. The phone case is red and black, and has the Carleton University logo and my name on it. This sucks.
