Avis

The small spaces I was around yesterday, at B-Mont, reminded me of the other small areas in which I find myself. One new space is the Metro. Due to my project at the Douglas, I have become a regular Metro + bus commuter. The 112 leaves promptly from Jolicoeur every 20 minutes or so, headed West towards the hospital, into the suburban community of Verdun. The morning passengers are a fairly lively bunch of teenagers headed to the various high schools in the neighbourhood.

The trip from the Doug to the Metro in the afternoon is more exciting, as perhaps it is this time, between noon and five pm, when the interesting folk come out.

My last 'ride' began with my usual i-pod coma being interrupted with a passionate discourse about fictional and (potentially) non-fictional biblical anecdotes. The bald man across from me with bi-focal lenses lead the highly involved debate, making eye-contact with me at times acknowledging my seeming interest. Before I could hear the end of one of his tales, I was startled by violent nose-blowing of a young man to my four-o'clock. It was more striking to find that the idea of a kleenex was replaced by (both of) the sleeves of his hoodie on the 112, that day. His eyes were covered in eye liner, which may have been drawn on with a Sharpie. He sang loudly to the songs from the CD which played from his CD player. I watched his pant legs shake wildly as he compulsively bounced his legs. His eyes wandered and stared at the moist blots at the end of his sleeves. I wondered what he was thinking about and what ward to which he would belong.

I oscillated from the boy back to the theological conversation, and back again. It was only at the realization of my over-stimulation when my complete attention was overtly taken to a women seated beside the back door, who was vomiting profusely onto the floor of the bus with all her might. My eyes were fixated on the top of her head, which quivered as she released what seemed like two liters of heavy waste. Bright red and foul, those in her general vicinity pushed quickly towards the front of the bus, covering their noses with scarves and jacket sleeves to avoid the stench.

The bus was on the cusp from entering the Metro station, so an emergency stop wouldn't have worked. Sick-woman, at this point, was sitting up wiping her eyes, focusing her attention to a toddler beside her, who was most likely her child.

Sleeve-blower boy was the first to get up, stepping in the pile of puke as he exited the bus without any concern. I escaped safely, unscathed, and relatively grossed-out.

This experience, like some I have had at work, reminds me of how much significance can be had in one small area at one time. Whether it be intentional with personal belongings, or through nearly being coerced into encounter in borderline lunacy.

Reflections after hemmed jeans.

Feelin' alright after a somewhat productive week.

But really folks, this blog ain't about life - it's amount mini-storage.

My responsibilities at the entreposage are less than minimal. In fact, some would even remark that I have none - especially my boss. My duties consist of showing up around 9 am and turning on lights. Sometimes, I don't even have to worry about turning the alarm on/off, if Jeff shows up. Though rest assured, it's always on.

Sunday is homework day, and a day for catching a few friends on fb chat. It's too cold in the office to get all comfer-cozers.

At some point after 1 pm, but before closing time, a man will approach the office counter, often asking for Ibs or some other man who 'should be working'. This man will usually give an indeterminate description, and the profile usually fits a number of the guys who do the demenagements. Asking for the anonymous man never catches me by surprise, though I am often eager to encourage the brief of the sketchy character. The description of the man is generally: tall, Indian, has an accent, nonexistent. All I can do is apologize and state that I have not seen him.

Zoo has been the latest character of interest in my Sunday Beaumont experiences. An Asian, averaged sized man in his mid 50s with an English accent, Zoo bears a poncho-esque top with some sort of polyester bottom. He always has his lime green plush-material cowboy hat with zebra-print trim. The man goes in and out of his locker with half a dozen garbage bags, frazzled and usually wearing a look of confusion. His story is much to involved to describe fully, though his schizophrenic behaviours entice me with every interaction. Whether he is regaling me with an anecdote about his affair with 'Princess Di', or giving me his cheaply printed art with lesbian-mermaid-infused themes, his eccentric disposition reflects the tragedy of people like him, keeping garbage in 50 square-foot lockers for years at a time.

A small girl from a big city takes on miniature spaces.

To whom it may concern:

After my first shift for the week of February 15th 2010, I reflect on the latest news about Sefi (Sephi?).

A tall man with a marginally drunken gait, I see Sefi usually during my Sunday shifts waiting around for something, someone and no one. He is usually without a winter coat in the winter, though wears a generic baseball cap throughout the seasons (backwards) over his dark, dense hair. He smiles constantly at me, greeting me with overwhelming affection at each visit. It is a shame that I work alone on Sundays, as I constantly try to assess his interactions with others.

He works for the moving company who often move customers into their storage lockers, for an extremely affordable rate, yet it is a guarantee that 'your dresser will be damaged'.

Sefi and I have developed a seemingly polite and amicable rapport, though my acknowledgment of his presence could never compare to his over-bearing friendliness. His teeth are shockingly crooked and his skin reminds me of the scene from Grease when Dennis C Stewart is referred to as 'Crater face'.

As Jeff casually drove me home tonight, he informed me about Sefi's latest interaction with the Beau premises. During a routine 'demenagement', the superficially-friendly man (apparently) assaulted a female tenant in the elevator. It may have been his way of welcoming her to the establishment, or he may have had a raging boner. I don't know.

Sefz is apparently banned from the premises, though so are a handful of employees and customers who make regular appearances.

See you Sunday.