A Novel of Comical Errors Wherein the Main Character Jago Rants Upon Various Subjects Culled From Modern-Day Experiences...
"Is this guy a customer?" I wonder. "It would explain why he knew my name..."
All of a sudden, it hits me. It was Beau Smith, a guy from my journalism class so many years ago.
He's still with a paper on Vancouver Island, still living with the girl he left his wife for (during our last year, no less, with a girl from our class).
We start talking shop. Who's at what paper, is so-and-so full time at the Sun, etc.
All of a sudden, I realize...
"So, this, here must be your daughter."
She looked shyly at me, this four-year old.
I tell her, "The last time I saw you, you were this big," while miming holding a small newborn.
It made me realize how much I miss being at school, trying to get a diploma in something I thought I loved. (Remember, this was before my whole damned Redwater experience...)
Also, I sold something to Georges Laraque today. A caller ID blocker I'm ordering in from Saskatchewan for him.
When he comes in to pick it up, I'm going to ask if he can give Stacey Smyth a note for me. (Remember, I went to high school with her...)
Not the only time I've served Georges. Once back my first year at Kingsway, he came in for some phone cable.
I asked his name for the receipt, and he declined.
After he left, Matt was like, "Dude! You didn't know that was Laraque?"
"Of course I knew," I said. "I thought I'd give him the opportunity to decline having his name on the reciept instead of me saying, 'So, Georges, what's your address?'"
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