The first time I saw ( my future girlfriend ) Lynne Sinclair, she frigging pissed me off. I was twenty two, working an overnight Security gig at the national Telephone Company in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. The midnight to eight shift sucks ass, man. Seriously. As the newest guy on a Security team of twelve, I was stuck doing it. Add to that the fact that I was beginning my second year as a Criminology student at Carleton University and you can see why I was not a happy camper. That morning, the elevators were malfunctioning. I put up the sign, in both English and French. Amazingly, a lot of the Telephone Company employees kept coming up to the Security desk, asking stupid questions. I felt like telling them where to stuff it, but I had rent and groceries to worry about so I held my tongue.
Lynne came in. Five-foot-seven, slim but somehow curvy, with alabaster skin, curly dark brown hair and pale blue eyes. Oh, and cute butt too. The first time I saw her I couldn't see all that because I was too busy telling myself silently that strangling Company employees would be bad for business. Even though there were bilingual signs in front of the elevators, this White woman who spoke English with the ridiculous French-Canadian accent from Quebec, had to gall to complain to me. I am not an elevator repairman. I'm just overnight Security at the Telephone Company in downtown Ottawa. The elevators malfunctioning are a technical problem for the building superintendent and management to handle, not the Security guy making eleven dollars and fifty cents per hour, you dig? Like a lot of Quebec women, Lynne had a temper. I told her in a flat tone that she could take the stairs. Grumpily she groaned and then took the stairs. I watched her shapely ass as she walked away, once again wishing I worked in Toronto, where Quebecers are scarce.
Unfortunately, it's my lot in life to always draw the short end of the stick. I'm the lowest paid of the Security Guards at the national Telephone Company in Ottawa, Ontario. I've been with the Security Company for six months, long enough to make union but not long enough apparently to merit a bump in pay. I also happen to be an international student at Carleton University, meaning that I pay three times what Canadian students pay. The average student at Carleton University pays five hundred dollars per class, plus tax. I'm paying fifteen hundred dollars per class, plus tax. All because I'm not from around here. I was born in the City of Cap-Haitien in North Haiti, but spent the past eleven years in the City of Brockton, Massachusetts. I lived in America long enough to become a naturalized U.S. Citizen, which doesn't mean squat if you're living in Canada.
Yeah, I wasn't having the best of mornings, or the best of months when I first met Lynne. However, while at the Telephone Company she would prove to be one of my closest pals. A Haitian guy raised in New England and an arrogant, self-important French-Canadian woman from Montreal, Quebec. What are the odds? Anyhow, the next time I saw Lynne, she seemed to be in a much better mood. She was heading to the Tim Horton's restaurant located nearby and asked me if I wanted anything. Truth be told, it was seven in the morning and my last meal was some Chinese food from Manchu Wok which I ate at the Saint Laurent Mall the night before. I hadn't eaten anything in twelve hours. I know that as a Security Guard, I'm not supposed to accept anything from clients because it might constitute a bribe but I was desperately hungry so I accepted Lynne's offer.
