Afternoon With A Box

The oppressive heat loosened its choke hold on us, at least for one day. I took advantage of this reprieve to run errands. I had thought of inviting a friend to join me for lunch, but something in this sudden cool air made me want to spend the day wandering the town on my own. I wanted to take in the street activities of a summer Thursday afternoon, even though technically, it's not quite summer.

I made my way to College and Bathurst, clutching a small box. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in a store window, I looked like I could have been carrying a bomb. A cleanly packaged bomb, but it could still go off and hurt you. I was actually looking for a cell phone store in the area, which I thought was a Fido outlet. I was wrong. The pretty young woman in the store pleasantly told me I might have to go to Chinatown to find an official Fido store. Back out on the street, I debated which was more important at that moment: finding the Fido store or having lunch.

Mars beckoned from just a few shops away. I always have their corned beef hash. I made my way towards it but noticed there were vacant seats at the patio of Aunties and Uncles, where all their rickety bench tables wore red and white checkered plastic covers, held down by plastic clips to prevent flight. People rave about the food at Aunties and Uncles. I went there once and it was okay. But not good enough to warrant the hour-long weekend lineups to get into a hole in a wall just to receive brusque service on chipped plates. In fact, I quite hate lining up to pay for food.

But this afternoon was different. The sidewalk patio was free and there was no lineup. Mars could wait. I was willing to give Aunties and Uncles another try. I took a seat and ordered scrambled eggs and bacon with potato salad from a hurrying waiter trying to contain his snarling. I suppose if I had to work on such a beautiful day, I'd be quite pissed off too.

As I waited for my food, I saw merry school children jauntily making their way up Lippincott, skipping and a hopping, n'er a care in the world. No doubt they were disgorged from the nearby schools and were headed home for lunch. Some sucked on giant, blue, orange or white freezies while others munched on mystery foods as they walked across my field of vision two by two, three by three, and sometimes a whole herd of them of varying heights clustered together, trying to not spill off the sidewalk.

And then one lone old man came along, hunched over his cane at 110 degrees. He was still wearing his winter blue vinyl coat with several tears in the back. It was painful watching him. With all his might, he lifted his cane with his right arm and planted it a few feet in front of him. Steadying his balance, he inched toward his cane with ten to twelve little shuffles. Then he lifted his cane and planted it a few feet in front of him again and start his shuffling all over. Every second or third cycle, he'd grab for the fence with his left hand to steady his body. I had an urge to run out and buy him a walker. But it was good to see none of the groups of school children swarmed him to trip him up or knock him down.

Then suddenly, plunked in front of me was my food. That's probably how they chip their dishes. To tell the truth, and as much as I hate to admit it, the food was good. The scrambled eggs creamy yellow and fluffy, the bacon crisped just so and generous, the potato salad tangy and moist. It's just that I still didn't know whether my waiter could do anything else with his voice but grunt.

The wind picked up, more people came in and sat down. In one corner, a lone woman sat with her papers spread out, arms holding down the pages, deep in discussion on the cell phone. At the table next to her, a woman was also on her cell phone, laughing and guffawing as if she was in a room by herself. In front of her was a woman in her late fifties lunching with a young man in his twenties. They looked like mother and son with the same long nose and chin. Except she kept holding his hand and he seemed self-conscious and too shy to reciprocate affection.

Beside me, a young man was telling his cell phone companion about his current favourite video game: Guitar Hero. I understood what he was saying, Guitar Hero also being The Boy's current favourite. I suppose that's one way to invite someone to lunch. You sit at a restaurant, phone your friend and talk to them while you are eating. Why, that's a virtual date. And if you were really keen on a guy but too shy to ask him out, you could phone him while you are at the restaurant and he wouldn't even have to know he was on your virtual date.

Behind me, two women with young children and a stroller waited for their lunch. I heard one woman say to the little boy, "Let's put her away and look at her again later. She's napping right now," referring to the sleeping infant in the stroller.

I finished my lunch and gathered all my things to leave, including my box. I walked along College where a meter-man in his police uniform was checking into car windows for parking receipts. Those government goons who bully the unwary, those city-paid vultures who prey on the distracted, those taxpayer-sponsored parasites who feast on the distraught in front of hospitals. I cursed the meter-man under my breath, wondering if he thought I was carrying a bomb, and made my way home.