Shut Up And Listen 39

Monday December 10, 2001
Saturday Night At Bing’s
We went out for supper on Saturday to Bing’s, the best Chinese restaurant in the world and I ordered my usual drink that I get everywhere: root beer. I get brought a beer. In a bottle. Nice to know that I can order beer, even though I’ll be legal in a bit over a month.
	The food was great too. Damn, I love chicken balls!

Tuesday December 11, 2001
Scandal Of The Week Pt. 1
Tomorrow my writer’s craft ISP is due and I’m currently polishing up the good copy. That means fixing any spelling/grammar mistakes (all 3 of them) and changing the titles of each scene from scene number to day of the week. I will lose marks for process by not changing that much, but fuck that shit. I am sick of being penalized for writing it right the first time—not to sound arrogant or anything. I mean, I have people read it and am not told to change anything, and I don’t see much to change, so why would I change anything? Tomorrow I’ll tell you all about my presentation and how that went.

Wednesday December 12, 2001
Scandal Of The Week Pt. 2
So, last night I printed off 25 sheets of paper for writer’s craft and then made four overheads this morning—not to mention the binder I had to use, and the dividers that I had to buy too. That’s something I haven’t been able to stand about school for years now: the cost of getting a good grade. You see, teachers don’t take the regular type of bribes, oh no. Teachers are one of those sick fetish groups that are bribed by posters and overheads and typed rough, semi-good, good and final copies. They want to see video clips and professional binders filled with that glossy paper and multi-coloured fonts. Only the kids who can afford to do this and have the ambition to do this get the excellent grades. These days, it’s not enough to just do a good presentation or project it just has to look pretty.
	That said, my shitty-looking presentation was an overwhelming success (you saw that coming, didn’t you?). I started off with a nice demonstration on what satire is; something that I was quite afraid that people wouldn’t get. I went up to the front, set up, and then began with “My topic is satire. Satire is . . .”
	Then I looked around without speaking.
	Then I got this annoyed look on my face.
	“I can wait as long as you can,” I said to the class.
	“Can someone please talk? How can I present in silence? I’ve never had to present in complete silence and I find it rather unnerving.”
	By this point people started to chuckle to themselves and I thought They’re getting it! They are fucking understanding it, man!
	The rest of the presentation went pretty well, too. Read some Mark Leyner, went over my story, involved the class, got a couple laughs; all in all, a good presentation.
	My favourite part was when I handed in my binder right after and the teacher says to me, “That was an excellent presentation, but I was really feeling for you. I thought you were having some sort of breakdown at the beginning.” Then she called me smart and witty.
	That’s pretty sweet.

Scandal Of The Week Pt. 3
You can read my story on the site at

Thursday December 13, 2001
That 80’s Show
Yes, Fox has announced that they will be airing a show soon called That 80’s Show. I’m trying to find the words to express what I’m thinking but the only thing that comes to mind is “milking the cow.”

Saturday December 15, 2001
Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow!
Woke up this morning to nice light coating of snow on the ground. Do you know how good that feels? I love the snow and I love winter. That nice little coat of white fluff that is the desire of all kids in high quantities. Half frozen water. The innards of all snowmen. The building blocks of all great forts in winter. Shit, snow rules.

The Holiday Rush Is Slow As Hell
Today, I lost about forty minutes of my life that I want back.
	You see, today I went Christmas shopping—and birthday shopping for my mom, whose birthday is tomorrow.
	What should have taken me about half an hour to forty minutes—I know what I want and where to get it—took me about an hour and forty minutes. Do you know why? The holiday rush is slow as hell.
	First, there was finding a parking space. Hell, first it was getting into the parking lot. We approached the dreaded Masonville Mall at Oxford and Richmond, and the smell of stupidity was in the air. Cars were everywhere and they were doing narrowly dodging pedestrians, who are somehow, somehow dumber than those in the cars. We entered the mall parking lot and the first opening, but wanted to park on the other side. So began the quest to cross to the other side of the mall . . .
	Much was seen on this journey: teenagers smoking, a man pummelling his daughter with snowballs, kids running out in front of cars as their parents talked to each other or on cell phones. People walked through a labyrinth, stalking these great metal beasts that would magically transport them back home. Showdowns occurred as space was at a premium and everyone wanted some. The sun was hot overhead and blinding. Alien Ant Farm was on the radio and I sang along. It was like taking a trip back into prehistory.
	After twenty minutes of searching, a spot was found, arrangements for meeting later were made, and I was thrust into the madhouse known as “The mall on the second Saturday before Christmas.”
	My first destination was a music store to buy a couple CDs. Sounds like a short trip, eh? It wasn’t.
	I should take a short pause to explain some things about me that you may or may not know: 
1) I hate people, and this lot was ripe with stupid people.
2) I like to do things fast. I’m not a slow guy. If I go shopping, I know what I want, where to get it, and I do it as fast as I possibly can. Fuck all that looking around shit. The only place I look around is bookstores (regular or comic). I like to spend as little time amongst these unwashed filth as possible.
	So, here’s another little fact that you might not know: not only are people stupid as pigs in shit, but they’re as slow as hell too. They like to just trot around the mall, looking here, looking there, not caring about those around them, and they do it at speeds that make turtles look like the fucking Flash.
	And here I am trapped in a building with them.
	I manage to navigate my way to Music World with a lot of “lane changes” on the way—yes, I am the human equivalent of that asshole car that is always changing lanes to get ahead. I see the first CD I wish to purchase right away and use my ballerina-like grace to dodge deadheads to get at it. I grab the first one, begin to walk away and I hear a sound. That sound was about five CDs hitting the ground. They fell when I grabbed my CD, so I picked them up, much to the surprise of an employee.
	I then stumbled and bumbled my way to the other CDs and began the hunt for another CD. I found a nice selection and chose one. Satisfied with what I had, I went to pay. 
	The way the cashiers are set up, there is literally no place to wait in line without someone shoving you out of their way so they can pass by. While I waited, a little old lady who looked so lost, was leaving the store with a bag that contained a CD just purchased for a grandchild, I assume. As she passed through the sensors at the door, they went off. She froze, thinking that a squad of cops would just magically appear and bust her head open to feast on the gooey juices inside. A clerk went to help her, and grabbed the bag from her. She just looked at him. I could she her mouthing the words “But I bought that for my—”, but she did not press the point. The clerk brought it up to the register, took the CD out, rubbed it on that little black surface that dulls the sensors or something. After, he returned the bag, the sensors shut up, and the lady left.
	I moved to pay for my CDs:
	“Hello.”
	“Hey.”
	“Would you like to buy our holiday fun fest CD for only $3.99?”
	Hmm . . . mom might like that.
	“No.”
	“Alrighty then. Is that everything?”
	“Yes.”
	Then I paid and left in search of a bookstore.
	Again, I had to shift into “angry driver” to get there.
	At the bookstore I went in search of a book for my mom: Bound By Honour by Bill Bonanno (the big Mafioso) because she loves that sort of thing. I checked biographies: nothing. I checked true crime: not there. So, with fifteen minutes left to kill, I looked around in this little, shitty bookstore. They did have four copies of Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas by Thompson, so that’s a plus.
	With ten minutes to spare, I began my trek back to the parking lot and the car. The worst moment was when two ladies with strollers were walking side-by-side and I couldn’t get around. A quick duck into an aisle and I was ahead of them.
	I arrived at the car just after my mom, so we left to go across the street to Masonville Mall The Sequel, which contains a good—great bookstore, Chapters.
	Getting across the street would be a problem though. First, we couldn’t go the “quick” route because of parking lot jams. Then we tried to go around the long way only to hit stoplight woes. An ambulance, 14 red lights, 15 green lights, and fifteen thousand fucks later, we arrived at Chapters.
	Mom wanted to go to a nearby pet store, and I headed into the fabled promised land of books. I went looking right away for that book for mom. Checked biographies and it wasn’t there. Thus began the search for true crime.
	I walked forever. I saw fiction, mystery, sci-fi, fantasy, romance, Asian cuisine, European cuisine, South-East Asian cuisine, World War 1, World War 2, the British colonies, PC repair, mathematics, humour, comics, bargain bins, erotica, kids, teen series, and an infinite more categories. On my second trip around the store, I found true crime and the book.
	I paid for it and decided to see if they had a book for my dad that I wanted to get him.
	They didn’t have the one I wanted to get him, but they did have another one which could be just as good—we’ll have to wait and see.
	As I was waiting in line to pay for this book, I farted. Now, the way to handle this is tricky if it is a silent one, as this one was. 
	First, I looked back at the person behind me to see if they smelled it. They did. 
	Second, you get that “I smell a fart” look on your face and look back.
	Third, you look at the one person in line who does not smell it, and is just acting normal.
	Fourth, you make eye contact with those around you and then look at the person who doesn’t smell it.
	Then, the blame has been placed on them and you can just laugh to yourself.
	I find it funny because I hate all these people and they have to suffer just a little more—and I just lost every reader, didn’t I?
	After two hours of hell, I went home and exchanged bitch-stories with my mom on the way. 
	I am now at home, sitting on my bed as Daft Punk plays and thankful that that horrifying experience is over. I love winter and Christmas, but I hate the people, the traffic, the greed, and the holiday rush that are attached.
	Now I am off to post this column, which you have just read.