We won't eat your babies. Probably.

*** continued from previous post ***


The first thing that strikes us as we sort of lunge through the door is - it's dark. Really dark. Like bat cave dark. As our eyes adjust we see that the room is fairly full of people sitting. Kind of bunched together all towards the front, oddly enough.

What made this weirder was there were a good number of tables spread through a deceptively large room. I mean this thing was huge! Another weird thing - there are not enough cars in the parking lot to accommodate the number of people in the Pub. From the looks of the crowd I assume that most of customers have given up and simply live in the bar.

And the whole creepy, clumping thing they had going on - I mean they were really bunched up. Eerily bunched up. Like a swarm of Canadians. Possibly we were witnessing some innate flocking instinct. If this were a raft, it would have capsized and everyone would have been eaten by sharks. Or squids. Or, by the most terrible horror of the deep - Shark-Squids!

But I digress, back to the Pub. The next thing we notice is that the conversation stops. I mean dead. Eyes turn to us. Hushed and whispered comments are exchanged. I look down to make sure we remembered to put our pants on. As you know, it's happened before.

Unsure of what to do - I mean do we sit and wait for the staff to bring us menus? Do we order at the bar? - we take a seat at one of the tables near the rear of the group and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Conversation in the Pub picked up a bit. I assume they realize we are not there to eat their young. Fatal mistake on your part silly Canadians! Bring out the babies!

And still we wait.

I leaned over and sniffed your Mom.

Mom leaned back and whispered, "What the hell are you doing? Did you just sniff me?"

"I did. I thought perhaps, in light of our day, you were a bit on the odiferous side and that's why we weren't getting served."

Mom stared at me, never breaking eye contact.

"You aren't. Odiferous I mean. Gamey maybe, but not truly odiferous."

Still nothing.

"Just a little," I said, and held out my thumb and forefinger to show her the universal sign for 'teeny-weiney'.

Mom leaned close, because - well because we were beginning to get creeped out at this point and didn't want to call undue attention to us, and said, "You know, I wouldn't call you 'daisy fresh' either."

I would have argued but that would have taken more energy than I could possibly rally enthusiasm. Plus, every time our voices rose above a hushed tone, the entire population of the bar twittered like a flock of starlings on a three-day espresso binge.

With patience of Job we waited, but even in our degraded state we soon realized that we could sit here until the Stanley Cup turned to rust and we were never going to be acknowledged.

"I guess we should go order at the bar," I whisper to mom.

We get up, and sort of tip-toe to the bar. Once again the place falls silent. It must be a predator-prey thing. I can imagine the group as a herd of gazelles on the Serengeti, ready to bolt at one threatening gesture, ever on the alert for teeth.


*** the journey continues tomorrow ***