Friday, October 05, 2007
Signs that your association has picked a great city for its conference
The Cowardly Academe had a bit of a journey involved in this conference as it was, as the hotel rooms ran out some four months beforehand, and a youth hostel was utilized instead. A typical youth hostel time was had by all, complete with drunken roommates stumbling home at one in the morning, snoring, and being too drunk to set an alarm clock properly, meaning that it went off at 4:30, 5:30, and 6:30 AM. At least there was no sex. Calgary natives may not find this surprising.
The Cowardly Academe's hostel bunkmate and fellow conference presenter was from Perth, horrifically traumatized by Calgary's cold weather but still a sport. When she arrived, the Francophone desk clerk apparently picked up on her foreignness and felt fit to warn her:
Francophone Desk Clerk: Don't walk in (pointing) that direction.
Perth Girl: Why not?
FDC: Well, in this country, we call them . . . "crackheads." [Insert lengthy speech on the definitions of cocaine and crack, the differences between them, and the subsequent undesirable characteristics of the animal known as the crackhead.]
After this speech, having the following happen was really just icing on the cake:
* Drunk man in business suit making homosexual overtures to the (straight) bearded fatty the Cowardly Academe went out to dinner with.
* Perogies and whiskey at the Unicorn Pub while the manager screamed obscenities at Flames-watching local hosers for sexually harassing some of her staff.
* Prof from a local art college enthusing about the drive-by shooting on 5th Avenue last month.
It was really a glorious time, and when one of the aforementioned raving crackheads inspired Perth Girl to press herself close to Cowardly Academe's side, it was hard to drum up too much distaste.
The Cowardly Academe's hostel bunkmate and fellow conference presenter was from Perth, horrifically traumatized by Calgary's cold weather but still a sport. When she arrived, the Francophone desk clerk apparently picked up on her foreignness and felt fit to warn her:
Francophone Desk Clerk: Don't walk in (pointing) that direction.
Perth Girl: Why not?
FDC: Well, in this country, we call them . . . "crackheads." [Insert lengthy speech on the definitions of cocaine and crack, the differences between them, and the subsequent undesirable characteristics of the animal known as the crackhead.]
After this speech, having the following happen was really just icing on the cake:
* Drunk man in business suit making homosexual overtures to the (straight) bearded fatty the Cowardly Academe went out to dinner with.
* Perogies and whiskey at the Unicorn Pub while the manager screamed obscenities at Flames-watching local hosers for sexually harassing some of her staff.
* Prof from a local art college enthusing about the drive-by shooting on 5th Avenue last month.
It was really a glorious time, and when one of the aforementioned raving crackheads inspired Perth Girl to press herself close to Cowardly Academe's side, it was hard to drum up too much distaste.
