Cheese!

"How does our food taste?"

What kind of a question is that? Working as a teenager at 'Bar-B-Que Heaven' in Brooklin I spent most of my time in the kitchen as a cook. Only during the busiest of times did I ever go into the dining room to serve food or pickup used dishes.

Such was the case one busy summer afternoon. I was bringing out a plate of natchos to a table as the waitress was being pulled in all directions and needed some help.

As I brought over the plate the lady smiled and asked me how her nachos tasted? I obviously had a confused look on my face to this question. She repeated, "How does our food taste?"

I told her I'm sure their food tasted good as all the food does at the restaurant.

She said, "The only reason I ask is because you seem to have small thread of cheese hanging from your mouth and going all the way to our plate."

I was so embarrassed. When I received the plate in the kitchen, the cheese was overflowing off the plate and as I picked it up a little came off on my fingers from the very side edge of the plate. Not wanting to go out there with cheese on my hands I licked it off my finger. I had no idea the other end was still attached.

The owner basically resigned me to the kitchen from then on.

Lavalife Sucks

For those of you who happened to be single in 2000, or anytime since then, you have no doubt used the internet at some point to try and meet someone.

Lavalife dates have become so popular that everybody I know has been on one. As these are essentially blind dates, going on a first date had became more like a job interview. I've known women that have scheduled their Lavalife dates back-to-back every hour and a half and kept notes during their meeting with each potential candidate.

Seriously. You'd arrive and meet, start with casual conversation regarding the weather and slowly get into the "what are your long term goals?" type of questions.."where do you see yourself in five years? what about ten years?"

It was horrible.

At the end of the date you'd shake hands and they'd say, "We'll be in touch." You'd call back a few days later to get a response of "That position has been filled" or you'd be scheduled for another round of interviews. I don't even want to get into the forms you'd have to fill out in order to be intimate.

Anyway, there is no real alternative...finding a date is always hard and Lavalife makes it easier.

So, there I was, one summertime afternoon near Yonge and Eglinton on a patio having a beer and waiting for my blind date to show up.

In walked a good looking lady, came over to my table and said, "are you my Lavalife date?" with a smile and I said I was. She sat down and instead of going into the usual weather-talk she began a long rant of how she hated Lavalife and the whole experience of going on blind dates. I really was enjoying it. And I totally agreed with everything she said. Before long we found ourselves having a good time and enjoying the conversation.

A single girl at another table kept staring at us...I figured she was mad because we were making too much noise laughing. The girl got up and came over to our table, I figured we were in for a scolding...

"Max?" she asked.

I said yes, but I could not recognize this girl for the life of me.

"I'm Ann, your Lavalife date for 2pm. Are you on another date?

My mouth dropped.

The woman across from me said, "Max? I thought you were John"

A guy from across the restaurant yelled out, waving his hand, "I'm John!"

Yeah. The only Lavalife date I've ever been on that went okay and it wasn't even my date.

Great Ball of Fire

It was my 31st birthday and I was visiting my parent's house in Port Perry for a celebration dinner. I had invited my younger cousin Jamie over to join us as he lived just down the street from them. My parents, Jamie and I sat down to a nice roast beef dinner.

Everyone had finished dinner and as usual I was still eating. I am a very slow eater (it comes with being a slow thinker).

My father, wanting to get started on the birthday cake decided to get it out of the box and put in on the cake plate and put in the candles. He waited for a few minutes and saw I still wasn't done eating. So he decided to start lighting the candles.

I'm not exactly sure what he was thinking...I imagine he thought the candles would burn for quite a while.

So, every few minutes he would yell into the dining room, "Want me to bring in the cake now?" and my mom would tell him not to. She and I had no idea that the candles were lit.

Well, it didn't take long for the candles to burn right down to the icing and I don't know if it is common knowledge but sugar does indeed burn.

Yes, the whole cake suddenly caught on fire.

My father, seeing the icing catch on fire, turning the cake into a fireball made a split decision; instead of throwing it into the sink and running water over it he thought we'd still be able to save the cake. So, he ran with it into the dining room yelling , "Blow it out! MAKE! A! WISH!" while reaching out towards me with this large burning ball.

My mom, obviously shocked at what was happening was still determined to continue with the birthday celebration and started to sing "Happy Birthday". She sang the lyrics as quickly as she possibly could in an effort to complete the song in under a few seconds, making her start to hyperventilate.

I grabbed Jamie's glass of water and threw it on the cake dousing it. My father looked at me with absolute shock and disappointment in his eyes, "Why did you go and do that for?"

We all just sat quietly for the next few minutes eating burnt cake.

The funny part was when I started opening up my gifts. You want to know what my cousin Jamie had coincidentally bought me for my birthday?

Yup, a fire extinguisher for my apartment.

Coma-ing Home

My grandfather was in his mid-eighties when he, like many elderly people, developed diabetes. His doctor prescribed him medication to regulate his blood-sugar levels.

However, as you can imagine, the medication is only useful when followed as per directed. Often he would forget if he had taken his pills or not and so he often doubled his daily dosage. This was sometimes combined with missed meals which would result in him going into hypoglycemic shock with not enough sugar in his blood.

For those that have never seen someone in this state, the person looks drunk. They slur their speech, they often can't see properly, coordination is affected, mentally they are out of it. If bad enough, the person can slip into a coma.

This was the case one summer night as my grandparents were driving back from the city of Oshawa (yes, my grandfather still drove in his mid-eighties..but that is another story). Apparently he had been feeling bad for hours and it was slowly getting worse. By the time they hit the border of Port Perry my grandfather couldn't see two feet in front of him and was really out of it.

When I heard about his condition I raced over to their house to find the ambulance parked in the driveway. I ran inside and met my mother who had arrived just before me. She told me that the ambulance attendants had quickly diagnosed my grandfathers condition and gave him a few glasses of orange juice. Although he was still weak from the experience, the natural sugars in the orange juice quickly took effect in his body clearing his mind and vision, bringing him back to normal health.

The first question asked to my grandmother was how did they manage to drive the rest of the way after grandad has his attack. From the Port Perry border to their house is a good 10 miles. We were wondering if she drove as she had never done so before in her life.

"Of course not" she firmly answered, "A lady never drives a motorized vehicle. I simply reminded your grandfather to turn the steering wheel a little left or right whenever he started to swerve to the side . Although we might have driven a little over a few people's lawns on the way home, your grandfather managed just fine."

While this answer was not totally unexpected coming from someone my grandmother's age it is not every day you hear someone reason that a diabetes induced coma is not a sufficient reason to stop driving.

When my grandfather was asked why he didn't just pull over and get help from a neighbour he replied; "I knew something was wrong. When I couldn't see anymore I thought I might be having a massive stroke so I just accelerated the engine as fast as it would go. I figured the best thing when having a stroke is to get home as fast as you can."

Warp 10 to Nerdville

During the honeymoon phase of any relationship I believe the chemistry of the mind slowly changes to turn you into the best partner possible for your mate.

There is nothing more evident of this than in the watching of tv shows. You start off watching each other's favourite shows just as a way of spending time with each other. Before long, you find yourself becoming a fan in the very shows you used to despise.

As was the case one day when I was watching Lisa's daily dose of 'Days of our Lives'. I found myself, from out of the blue, yelling to the tv screen; "How can it be Shawn's baby?? Oh no! What's Phillip going to do? That Belle is such a bitch!"

Then there was this long awkward pause in our livingroom.

I slowly turned to face Lisa who was staring at me with her eyes beaming as she held back a laugh.

"You've become a chick! You've become a chick! This is great!", she said, the happiest I've ever seen her. "Now I've got someone to watch my shows with"

"Forget that!" I said with a gruff and grabbed the remote control and changed it to 'Star Trek Voyager'. Being an engineer, watching Star Trek is as close to being back in the womb as you can get.

Lisa sat back with a smile, delighted that she had changed me into a soap loving show watcher.

We had only watched for a few moments when Lisa yelled out, "This show is so stupid! I can't believe you watch this. Everyone knows warp 13 was the maximum speed in the original series but suddenly now it has changed to warp ten. That's just ridiculous! And Paris and Janeway mating and having lizard babies?? That just doesn't make any....."

Lisa suddenly froze, stopping herself halfway through her rant. She realized that she too had changed since we started dating.

Believe me when I say that I was truly loving this moment.

"Well, well well. It looks like I didn't have to wait for kids to have another nerd in the family. I'm going to get popcorn, let me know if Neelix finds a use for the beryllium crystal he bought."

Lisa let out a long sigh. "Dear Diary, today I have become a nerd." she said quietly to herself.

Bear Security

During one of our weekly section meetings at the nuclear power plant, Elizabeth (aka the Polish Chicken) read out a corporate announcement stating that the modifications to the security fence surrounding the plant were finally complete.

This multi-million dollar project incorporated state of the art technology into the fence.

Elizabeth said the exact upgrades were not detailed in the announcement due to security reasons but we had all heard the rumours; wherever the fence is touched, cameras zero in on the location. It can tell if it is a person who touches the fence compared with an animal. If the fence is cut the security team will instantly know where the breach in the fence is located.

All the latest in technological devices had to have been included in the design of the fence...that is what justified the multi-million dollar budget.

We were all impressed. Of course, anything technology related is a big hit in a room full of engineers.

Elizabeth then went on to read the next announcement. "Be careful when walking outside as a large bear was spotted recently on-site."

I raised my hand, interrupting her..."How did a bear get onto the grounds?"

"What do you mean, Max?", she asked with a sigh.

"Well, with the new security fence installed, how did a large bear, probably weighing a tonne or more get on-site?"

"Oh, that's easy", she said, happy to know the answer. "The fence doesn't go all the way around the property. It's totally open on the one side."

The Revenge of the Grandkids

Please read the prequel story, "My Grandfather The Card" before reading this one
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We left yesterday's story with my Mom calling up her two sisters to discuss their father and the fact that he was way past due for a prank. Having just pulled a prank on his two young grandchildren (myself at age 5 and my sister, Charlene who was 6) they decided it would be fun to give him a taste of his own medicine.

They quickly determined that the best time would be during the upcoming Thanksgiving long weekend. Grandad, a retired United Church minister, had been asked to officiate an outdoor wedding for a friend of the family. My mom, her sisters and each of their families had also been invited as guests.

Now, before each wedding my grandfather liked to go for a walk around our small country town located just outside of Port Perry. He used that time to practise what he was going to say and to relax before the service.

My Mom gave my sister, Charlene and I one job, an important job, for this prank...my sister and I had recently been the victims of my grandfather's mischievous nature (see "My Grandfather The Card" for details). I remember being so happy to be included and given a part to play.

When my grandfather returned from his walk, we jumped into our role...as he approached the front door of the house we both ran up to him and said, "Oh my goodness Grandad, you smell like a skunk! Oh no! Were you sprayed during your walk?"

You see, my grandfather was born without any sense of smell.

Not having the ability to smell anything, he was always very cautious, afraid of having embarrassing odours of any kind...after all, he was a minister and had to deal with people all day long.

So, upon hearing this from his pure and innocent young grandchildren, he ran into the house to find my grandmother.

Before even arriving at her location, my grandmother yelled out, "Oh Charlie, what is that smell?? Have you been sprayed by a skunk?"

Hook, line and sinker. Not bad for our first time at a prank :-)

Immediately my grandfather ran to the washroom and started running a bath. He jumped in and started scrubbing with everything he had.

His three daughters, who just 'coincidentally' happened to arrive all at the same time ran to the washroom to see their father frantically washing. They were all very helpful, telling him that they heard tomato juice was good for removing skunk smell.....and wouldn't you know it...they just happened to have 10 cans of the stuff on hand.

At this point my grandfather wasn't thinking about the why's or about anything suspicious at all....all he was concerned about was that he had to officiate a wedding in less than two hours and he smelled like a skunk.

I can still picture my grandfather pouring can after can of tomato juice over his head.

After fifteen minutes of dousing himself my mother and her sisters told him they thought he was starting to smell a little better.

They told him that it would probably be better if he wore a few pairs of long underwear and shirts underneath his suit, to keep the rest of the smell in.

So, he did. I mean, why wouldn't he believe his wonderful daughters who were only trying to help?

He left for the service with plenty of time. The extra clothes he had on made him look like he had gained 10 or 15 pounds. Others who didn't know him wouldn't have guessed he was wearing half his wardrobe under his nice suit. To us, his family, it looked like he was wearing a fatsuit under his clothes.

The ceremony went off without a hitch. The bride and groom may have wondered why grandad stood ten feet from them during the ceremony but if they did wonder they didn't say anything.

The few of us family members noticed that grandad seemed to be sweating a little bit more than usual, even though it was a cool fall day :-) Perhaps it was the four pairs of long underwear he was wearing.

As you probably know, during the service, a collection is taken. Plates are passed from row to row and money is donated by the congregation to help support the church's activities. Many people put their donation in an envelop so that it remains private.

My mom gave my sister a small envelope to place on the plate as it went by us.

Instead of money inside it was a note on a small card my mother had written on our behalf. She knew that part of my grandfather's responsibilities was to deposit the collection at the bank and so he would open every collection envelope in the process.

Although my sister Charlene and I were too young to read, my mom later read it aloud at the supper dinner that night.

Just in case you were wondering, my grandfather laughed hardest of all, I think he loved a practical joke even more when it was played on him. The card read;

"Dear Rev. Clarke,
We paid our donation earlier by 'credit card'.
Love, your grandchildren,
Max & Charlene
p.s. Gotcha!"

My Grandfather The Card

My grandfather, being from the east coast, had a great sense of humour which included a penchant for playing practical jokes.

And no one was spared from these jokes. Not even his young grandchildren.

Such was the case one fall afternoon when my parents were both working late and had asked my grandfather to take us both out to the chinese restaurant for dinner. I was five years old and my sister was six.

It was always a treat to go out for dinner with our grandfather. He ordered more food than we could possibly eat and before long the three of us were fully stuffed.

After receiving the bill for the meal he took out his wallet and looked inside. A look of pure fear came over his face, "I have no cash!", he whispered to my sister and I.

Being a year older and knowing that grandfather was a jokester my sister was hesitant to believe him.

"As god is my witness I do not have any cash in my wallet". Now my grandfather was a retired United Church minister and religion was taken very seriously in our family. My sister and I knew that if he said "As god is my witness..." whatever he said after that must be the truth.

And it was the truth. He had no cash in his wallet. Of course, if my sister and I had known there was something called a credit card we probably wouldn't have been so worried.

But as it was, my sister and I were in a state of complete panic. We had heard what happens when you don't have enough money to pay your dinner bill....they make you wash dishes all night long...maybe even for days. I just wanted to go home.

My eyes teared up and I said, "Grandad, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know Max. I just don't know." then there was a long pause while he pretended to think. "Okay, I want you both to go outside and wait for me. I'm going to go talk to the owner."

My sister Charlene and I hurried ourselves outside and once out the door began fretting about the situation we were in.

My sister who was older and wiser said, "If anything bad happens, just run Max.."

The next few minutes seemed to take hours for the two of us. Meanwhile, my grandfather was obviously enjoying the moment and taking his time paying the bill with his credit card.

We couldn't see him inside...in fact we didn't see him at all until he burst out the front door yelling to us "Run! Run for the car!"

The people inside the restaurant must have thought we were all crazy.

My sister started screaming which started me screaming and the two of us ran as fast as we could to the car, jumped in the backseat and begged our grandfather to drive away as fast as he could. We were sure at this point that we were breaking the law and running away without paying our bill.

Visions of angry policemen and the army hunting us down flashed repeatedly in my mind. I had seen tv...I knew what happens to criminals.

Once we got home, Charlene and I immediately ran in our home and hid under the bed, certain that the police were on their way to arrest us.

When my parents got home to see my grandfather with his feet up enjoying a drink and watching tv....with no loud children about...they knew something was up.

When they asked my grandfather he replied that Charlene and I had been absolutely no problem at all...he said he couldn't understand why some people have such hard time managing kids. After all, he explained, he was able to get us to sleep in our rooms three hours before bedtime. He thought out loud that he must have a natural gift with children.

Now my parents were certain something was wrong. When they finally coaxed us out from under the bed Charlene and I were both hesitant to tell them of our crime. After all, would my parents still want known criminals on the run living in their house?

After repeatedly telling us that everything was fine and not to worry I still shook with fear. Overcome with emotion, I cried out, "I didn't even touch the fortune cookies! Honest!"

Very soon afterwards, my parents calmly explained to Charlene and I about the magical device known as the "credit card".

Don't feel too bad for us though. My mom got on the phone that night with her two sisters and decided that their father deserved a prank of his own. Charlene and I even got to help...

...but you'll have to wait, for it is tomorrow's story.

Amy Boulet and the Tent-Trailer

When I was 19 years old I thought Amy Boulet was the sexiest girl in the universe. When she called I would come running.

This was the case one summer night when I got a call from her late in the evening; her whispered voice told me to meet her out in the trailer in her parent's backyard.

Adrenaline and pure fear shot instantly through my body. Her parents had a fold-up tent trailer that they used on summer vacations. When not in use, they parked it in their backyard right under their bedroom window. Amy often slept outside at night as she said it felt like camping.

Her step-father was a giant of a man who worked as a butcher. He did not like me and made that very clear. He told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to touch his princess or else there would be consequences to pay. As he told me this upon our first meeting I could see the complete set of butcher knives he had in his kitchen...I really didn't want to find out what he meant by consequences.

But I was 19 years old with hormones racing through my body. You might as well ask the sun not to shine or the grass not to grow...I WAS going to meet her in the trailer..consequences be damned.

Now Amy enjoyed the fact that I was deathly afraid of her father. She enjoyed having both her father and I wrapped around her little finger.

And I knew this. So I really should have known better than to pull a prank on Amy and her friends the day before. It was a little harmless prank that ended with them being soaked in water. I won't go into the details but it was all in good fun.

However, my little prank resulted in Amy and her friends deciding to take this opportunity to get their revenge.

I didn't know this but Amy's parents were away for a few days. Amy turned on her parent's bedroom light and turned on the tv in their room to let me believe they were at home in bed watching tv.

A fold-up tent trailer has beds in both sides of it. Amy was in the bed on the one side and her friends were all hiding on the other side. Their prank idea was to get me to come over, I would get naked and then Amy would make a lot of noise. I would be so afraid of her step-father hearing her that when her friends jumped out at me from inside the trailer I would scream and they would laugh.

And their plan was near perfect.

I did race to Amy's house after receiving the phonecall. I did see the light on in her parents room and hear the tv. I tiptoed to the trailer and slowly opened the door.

Amy said, "I'm over here waiting for you".

It was dark outside and pitch dark in the tent-trailer. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I certainly couldn't see Amy on the one side or her friends hiding on the other side. I moved slowly towards her voice.

"I can't wait to touch you. Take off your clothes and get into bed", Amy purred.

I have never gotten naked so fast. We had not yet consumated our love and I was ready to burst. I was sure tonight was the night.

I jumped into bed and started kissing her neck and lips. She started to moan really loudly.

I broke out in a cold sweat. "Stop! Quiet! Your Step-Dad!" My sentences weren't coherent at all but it was all I could muster at the time.

This only made Amy yell even more, "Don't stop! Fill me with your love! Keep going!"

I have never been so confused on what to do in my life.

Her friends didn't make a sound. At least, I didn't hear them at all.

What I did hear though was steps outside of the trailer walking towards us...and they were getting faster and louder...someone was coming to the trailer.

This obviously surprised Amy too because she gulped, "My Dad!". She must have thought her step-dad had come home early.

That's when I bolted.

I had no where to go so I thought I'd hide on the other side of the trailer. I mean the trailer was only like 15 feet long so it's not like it was the best plan but I certainly couldn't leave through the door...he was right outside and I could picture the butcher knife in his hands. His voice saying, "There will be consequences!" kept going through my brain.

As the footsteps outside were almost at the door I ran full speed to the other side. As I got there I dove onto the bed. Instead of hitting mattress I landed on a body...one of Amy's friends who was hiding there. She let out a scream like no other and I fell off of the bed and landed with a loud thud on my back in front of the door.

The door opened.

I screamed. And I mean I screamed like a little girl in pure terror.

I was certain I was going to die by butcher knife. I yelled out, "Please God No!" and held my breath in absolute fear.

Standing there at the doorway was my preacher.

Yup, the minister of my mom's church. Apparently he is a neighbour of Amy's parents.

He was going for a walk outside when he heard Amy's loud moans and thought she was in trouble so he walked over to investigate. He heard the scream and opened the door expecting the worst.

And the worst he did find.

Me naked, on my back, still fully erect and a look of pure horror on my face.

He then looked inside the camper and scanned with his flashlight to find a total of 5 girls in there with me. By this point they were all hovering over me as confused as I was.

Although I was very relieved to not see Amy's step-father and his butcher knife, I was certain I was in for some yelling...after all he was a minister and I was not doing God's work.

But there was no yelling at all. In fact, I don't exactly know what he thought was going on but he seemed amused at me naked with 5 girls. I say this because he had a funny half-smile on his face and said, "Nice work lad. Nice work." He closed the trailer door and walked away.

I am so going to hell.

Our Engagement Story

The below story was written June 25, 2003 and remains one of my favourite stories. It is Lisa's and my engagement story and was written as an email to our friends and family. Although our love has since died and my heart is broken it remains a beautiful story and one that I would like to share with everyone....enjoy
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I have some important news in my life that I'd like to share with you. Lisa and I got engaged June 14th. We haven't yet set a date but we'll probably get married within the next year. Below I've included the story of how I proposed.

I had absolutely no idea just how difficult a task it is to propose to someone. Those commercials that remind the viewer that a 'diamond lasts forever' don't mention that shopping for one takes equally as long. At least it felt like forever after the sixth weekend in a row going from shop to shop, learning everything there is to know about clarity, cut and weight. I now know that a diamond is formed by compressing a bank account into the hardest substance known to man.

Lisa loves her ring. In fact, as I write this I am watching her gaze at it like a deer caught in headlights. Carol Channing sang that diamonds are a girl's best friend, and I'm starting to think she was right...they'll out-live men, light up a room like no man could and a diamond doesn't need to take viagara to stay hard forever. It is hard for a man to compete with a diamond...maybe that is why men have proudly taken on the dog as their best friend...as long as a man doesn't pee on the rug or chase cars then they'll appear to be the superior species..well, most of the time anyway.

After buying the ring the next task was to choose the perfect location and situation for which to propose. After polling several men from work the most popular answers were (a) they got loaded and handed a ring to their girlfriend at a local bar in a desparate effort to get a free plate of chicken wings or (b) they were getting yelled at by their girlfriend and used the ring to stop the yelling. A diamond "get out of jail free" card if you will.

While these choices remain obvious perfect examples of romantism at its best I remained determined to try and do something unusual; believing the story of how Lisa received the ring will be just as important to her as the ring itself.

I asked Lisa to book off work from June 13th till June 16th..this was the day before her birthday and I thought a surprise trip would be a nice way to begin her new year. I packed a bag for her the morning of the 12th and arranged for a limosine to pick us up that evening from our building. The limo arrived the evening of June 12th filled with roses and a bottle of champagne.

As we drove to the airport Lisa asked me 20 questions as to our final designation but I didn't let any secrets slip. The airport staff behind the ticket counter were more than happy to play along and reminded me to hold onto both tickets. As we boarded the plan she read the sign that we were heading to Heathrow in London but she didn't know if that was our final stop or not.

As we were about to enter the plane we were stopped by a man who worked for the airline. He gruffly asked for our seat assignment tickets, looked at them and ripped them in two saying they were no good. He must of enjoyed our jaws dropping in shear horror wondering what was going on. He pulled two first class tickets out of a folder and handed them to us..he smiled, quietly told us not to tell anyone and walked away.

Wow! We had our own private movie monitors at our seats, more champagne than we could drink, the best meal...it was incredible. We didn't want to leave the plane when we pulled into Heathrow....but alas, we did. Lisa asked if we were staying in London. I told her no and directed her to our next flight. The next flight was to Paris and was a short flight of about 45 minutes from terminal to terminal.

I could tell she had no idea if this was just a stop-over or if this was our final destination. I was really enjoying the game of it all when I realized it couldn't go on much longer...once we picked up our luggage she would know we were here to stay. So, once we were off the plane and just in front of the luggage conveyors I told her we were here to stay and why I picked France.

On our first date, Lisa told me that she had spent a year in France on an exchange when she was 18. She went to a little town by the water called Blaye which is near Bordeaux. It was her first time away from her parent's home in Calgary and she went there not speaking a word of french.

The first six months were spent with a wicked woman who mentally abused and intimidated her. I still don't know many stories of what happened during the first six months. Lisa doesn't talk too much of it. I do know that she gained 70 pounds in those six months and when we went to Blaye she neither remembered the host family's names nor where they lived..even though the town is not even a quarter of the size of Port Perry and she lived there for six months.

During her ordeal, Lisa had asked the exchange association that sent her to Paris if she could have another host family. They refused. I don't understand why she didn't leave on her own...she has said that at the time she felt trapped, unable to leave. I imagine it's because she was 18 with little money and didn't want to be seen as a failure by her family and friends back home for not being able to hack it abroad.

Blaye is a small town and word of any trouble gets around pretty fast. An elderly couple living in Blaye had heard of Lisa's troubles and felt they had to do something. The gentleman decided to meet with Lisa's host mother to determine if there was any truth to the stories he had heard of the woman's abusive nature.

I don't know what the discussion was between the elderly gentleman and Lisa's host mother but his wife said that when he came home afterwards his face was white and he told his wife they needed to get Lisa out of there asap.

Lisa didn't know who this elderly couple was that wanted to help her, she didn't know anything about them. After several peaceful attempts to remove Lisa from the home they decided to get the local police involved as they were afraid the host mother would become violent. Apparently it wasn't pretty but Lisa did leave and came to live with this elderly couple for the remainder of her exchange.

Lisa learned the elderly couple belonged to the local rotary club. While Lisa was not part of that group another exchange student from the States was. At the local rotary club meetings in town the young American girl told the members of the rotary club of Lisa's situation. Of everyone who knew of this horrific situation the elderly couple were the only ones to do anything about it.

Anyway, back to the point of this story of why I chose Blaye to propose to Lisa....when Lisa and I had our first date she told me that her experience in France molded her into the person she is today. Surviving the hard times made her realize she could overcome any of life's challenges and this gave her the confidence that she still carries today. When I pulled her aside in that airport I told her that I wanted to meet the elderly couple and thank them...for many things...for helping Lisa become the person she is today, for saving her, for saving me...As you can imagine, we're both crying now...in a crowed airport by the luggage conveyor belt. It wasn't a kodak moment...but what do you expect from a rotarian story? I'm just glad it wasn't the shriners who saved her...we'd probably end up driving to the church in a tiny car with 14 clowns inside. Heck, we still might...

We stayed the night in Paris and in the morning we rented a car and drove to Blaye which is about 5 hours away. Lisa drove mach 10 the entire way as I held on for dear life to the passenger door.

Truthfully the drive from Paris to Blaye is absolutely beautiful and I would recommend it to anyone...you pass through many small towns that haven't changed in centuries with cobble stone streets and houses older than Canada. It was so beautiful.

We arrived in Blaye and Lisa took us straight to the elderly couple's house. On the way, I learned their names were John and Collette Dagnas. They were in their mid-eighties and were still living in the same house that Lisa lived in for several months.

When they saw Lisa they threw their arms around her and the three of them cried as they held each other. I had been practising my speech of why we were there the entire trip from Paris and I couldn't wait to use it...the speech of thanking them, etc... Well, as soon as Mr. Dagnas stuck out his hand to shake mine I began. It was beautiful...Lisa later told me I was articulate, thoughtful and truly romantic...I can only imagine how good it would have been if either of them had spoken a word of english. One would think that Lisa would have brought up this point during our discussions but as she is fluent in french she probably never stopped to consider it a problem.

They did pause slightly after my speech and smiled and I believe Collette even nodded once or twice out of politeness. There was a short awkward pause before ushering us into the house to get caught up with the Canadian girl that they had lost touch with more than a decade ago.

I believe I now know what it is like to be a dog. As Lisa and the Dagnas' talked at their kitchen table I looked at whoever was speaking; when they laughed I laughed. When they looked sad I looked sad and nodded my head as if in agreement. I had absolutely no idea what was being said.

Whenever I heard a word that I understood, such as Max, Toronto, Hamilton, SARS, etc.. my ears perked up like I was finally grasping the language. It was short lived however as usually the words following the word I understood would bring me back to a state of confusion.

Lisa told me the Dagnas' had invited us to stay the night at their houseand we both heartly accepted. Their place was right out of a story book. Itwas over 200 years old and absolutely amazing.

The kitchen window opened up to a garden filled with flowers and trees and it made you wonder if anyone ever left Blaye and if so why? I couldn't imagine a more beautiful place.

In the last couple of hours of sunlight Lisa and I walked down to the water and through the citadel.

The citadel is an old fortress that I imagine was used to protect the town during times of war. I told Lisa I thought the idea of proposing in a castle was very romantic..tales of a knight and a princess. To tell you the truth though I couldn't stop thinking about the french in that castle from Monty Python's "The Holy Grail" and wishing I could be taunted a second time before"la vache" would be fetched. However, I decided these thoughts would be best kept to myself and others in the engineering/computer science industries.

It was on top of a hill inside the citadel overlooking the water I got down on one knee and asked Lisa to marry me. I remember feeling it was a very special moment although we were both so nervous that neither of us remember what I said. I believe it was something to the effect that I would spend the rest of my life trying to make her happy. At least that is what I am telling myself..it could have been a dirty limerick for all I know.

I do remember her saying yes though and that was a great feeling. I took out the ring that I had been carrying in my front pocket the past couple of days and placed it on her finger.

All was right in the world.

We walked down the hill and towards the town hand in hand, totally in love. We were engaged. It was a very special moment for us.

When we past the phone booths we should have kept on walking by but for whatever reason we felt the need to share our special moment with our loved ones.

After several calls to both Lisa's and my families the only person we were able to reach was my grandmother. My grandmother lives in Port Perry and recently turned 96. She has been house ridden since the start of the year while slowly recovering from an illness. A wonderful lady, she is both wise and very knowledgable. She is also however, stone deaf. While strangers at a nearby cafe watched I begin to scream as loudly as I could into the phone trying to get my grandmother to understand that I am engaged.

The strangers across at the cafe have no idea what I'm saying as it is in english...all they know is that Lisa and I walked down the hill hand in hand in love and now I am shouting at the top of my lungs into a pay phone.

The only word my grandmother could make out was "marriage" to which she then made the assumption that we got married, not just engaged.

Before I knew it she was crying on the phone telling me it will break my mother's heart when she hears we got married without the family in attendence...I shouted as loud as I could into the phone, telling her that we are just engaged and not married. But again with her being deaf and all...it wasn't easy. By the time I hung up the phone 20 minutes of shouting later, everything had been sorted out...at least I believe it was.

The next morning we woke up to Mr. Dagnas' news that we had better get ready because he had made arrangements for the rotary club members to meet us for lunch. My imagination immediately lead me to assume that perhaps a local Arby's surrounded by old men in shriner's hats would be our next destination. How wrong I was.

Lisa and I followed behind the Dagnas' in our rental car as they led us to a nearby castle on a local winery. It was absolutely incredible. The castle was right out of a story book and the owners were a young couple only a few years older than myself..apparently the father had bought his son this castle and winery as a coming of age present.

In Port Perry, my coming of age present was a pack of colts and a large bottle of malt liquor given to me by my father yelling "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!..." Not a castle per se but a special moment nevertheless.

As we entered the large dining room we were surprised to find approximately 30 or so couples waiting for us for lunch.

Apparently the news of how the Dagnas' had helped Lisa those 13 years ago has become somewhat of a legend within this group and a source of pride for the rotary club. I quickly learned that they take great pride in the help that they provide to their community and beyond and Lisa's story was an excellent reason for them to celebrate the good work that they do. There were few people under 50 and they were all immaculately dressed and obviously wealthy.

I felt very self-conscious in my t-shirt and jeans. That feeling was only amplified after I found out the man sitting beside me at the dinner table was the Chief Nuclear Officer of the local 4 unit nuclear generating station. I kid you not. Lisa apparently forgot to mention the small fact that the town of Blaye is supported by not only the wine industy but by the nuclear industry as well.

The Dagnas' had made mention to the hosts that I worked in a nuclear power plant in Canada and they arranged to have me sit beside this gentleman. He spoke english very well, as did many people there. I was so nervous as he asked me questions about nuclear power in Canada. To tell you the truth I was so worried about saying the wrong thing I still have no idea what his name was.

You get to know someone fairly well over the course of a french dinner...you see, it lasts at least 5 hours and includes many many drinks.

First the aperatif, then the wine, then champagne, then cognac...and then the real drinking begins.

By the end of it we were like old friends sharing laughs and funny stories of a common theme, Americans in the nuclear industry.

Another enjoyment of dinner was the troupe of english rotarians that we revisiting. They were easy to spot as they were right out of a Benny Hill episode...wild hair, tweed suits and loud boisterous laughs. They were in sharp contrast to the fairly uptight and chic looking french. The english gentleman sitting on the other side of me enjoyed the words "brilliant" and "fuck"and used them together or separately in nearly every sentence during the 5 hour meal.

He listened to the story of how I proposed to Lisa and took delight in pointing out to the french males of our table that their reputations for being romantists was being challenged. By the middle of dinner and after many drinks his ability to speak dwindled down to the repeated phrase, "He fucking got you lot. Brilliant really. Brilliant."

The afternoon was incredible. It felt almost as if our wedding had taken place.

After the dinner, Lisa and I said goodbye to everyone and promised we would be back often. The Dagnas' had tears in their eyes as they hugged Lisa and reminded her not to stay away so long.

Lisa and I didn't talk too much on the way back to Paris. So much had happened during the past 48 hours that we just sat silently holding hands and became lost in our own thoughts.

The next morning we started on the journey home to Canada and by 8:30am Tuesday I was back in my cubicle in Pickering wondering how so many things could happen over the course of a weekend.

Brilliant really. Brilliant:-)

Anita Brain

Pam's sister Anita is one of my favourite people and felt like my sister when Pam and I were dating.

Anita was born with the rare (okay, maybe not that rare) ability to completely shut down the logic faculties of her brain. In her 20s she was able to do this daily, even hourly sometimes.

An example of this was when she and I went to see the movie, 'The Green Mile'. After sitting down just before the show started she asked me what the movie was about because I had read the newspaper reviews on it.

I told her that Michael Clarke Duncan plays a mentally challenged man who has powers similar to Christ; he can cure the sick with a touch, bring the dead back to life, read people's thoughts and other magical things.

"Oh wow..." then there was a long pause while she thought about it "...is it based on a true story?"

Snake Story

An old girlfriend Pam and I moved from London, Ontario, where we went to university, to a small apartment in Toronto. We were eager to meet our neighbours and start our new life there.

All of our stuff was sprawled over the lawn as we had mistakenly booked the elevator later than we should have and so we were forced to wait.

As we waited amongst our stuff, Pam let out a huge scream...before I could understand what was going on she grabbed her old field hockey stick and started pounding away at something between our packed boxes.

I rushed over to see a 2 foot long garter snake, now dead between the boxes.

Pam was yelling, still in shock, wondering aloud how a snake got packed in with our stuff...

As she slowly calmed down she said that she was glad that the snake didn't make it up to our new apartment...she imagined that us bringing in a live snake into our new building would make all our neighbours hate us and this obviously worried her.

As Pam finished speaking a young lady our age came out from the building to welcome us. She mentioned that she new someone was moving into the apartment next to hers today and so when she saw our things stacked on the front lawn she decided to come out and introduce herself.

She told us that she was there to help us however we needed and all we needed to do was ask. Both Pam and I were relieved to learn we had such a nice neighbour.

Although I have reason to believe our neighbour didn't feel the same way about us...as she left she said, "Oh by the way, you haven't seen a small snake have you? My son accidently lost his pet and we've been searching all morning for it. He is terribly upset."

Yup, welcome to the neighbourhood.

Death by Freezer

"Did you hear about Pierre Leduc? He killed himself. Yup, locked himself in a freezer."

This was the rumour going like wildfire around my friends. I was fifteen years old and it was now being told to me by my friend David.

Pierre Leduc was a longtime local from Port Perry who was very active in local events and community spirit.

It was hard to believe what I was hearing. It just seemed like yesterday that he was leading us all in a cheer to inspire the local Junior C Hockey Team to victory. The team's name was the Mojacks as it was sponsored by "Mother Jackson's", a local factory that made pies.

Pierre would spell out the word Mojacks one letter at at time asking the crowd, "Give me an 'M'" and then we'd all yell out the letter as loud as we could. Pierre would usually get mixed up with the letters and often he yelled out the wrong spelling.

This just made it all the more enjoyable. At the end he'd finish with a loud "AND WHADDYA GOT??"..asking everyone to yell out the word we just spelled...which spelled properly would have been Mojacks but often we were forced to yell out "MOJASS!" or "MOACKS!" or whatever it was that Pierre had just spelled.

Nonetheless, anything that started with an 'M' and followed with an 'O" was close enough for us and we all cheered on anyway. Pierre really was the highlight of each game.

This is why I found it so hard to believe that Pierre would have ended his own life, and in such a horrible way, dying alone in a freezer.

It was with saddened hearts that David and I walked back to his place. When we arrived, David's parents were outside with his Grandfather, getting ready to take him home.

"Mom, Dad, did you hear what happened to Pierre Leduc?", asked David.

"Yes, poor man died of a siezure"

"Seizure?? I heard he died in a freezer"

"No. Who told you that?", they asked.

"Grandpa did!", David said. He then yelled to his Grandfather who was very hard of hearing and recently had a minor stroke which affected his speech. "Grandpa! How did you say Mr. Leduc died?"

David's Grandpa, having great difficulty speaking had to breathe out heavily with each word to get it out..."fffffiezure" is what I heard him say.

It soon became clear that David mishearing his Grandfather was the start of this rumour regarding Pierre's cold demise.

The funny part was ten years later, I was sitting one night in the Port Perry donut shop and the table beside me had a couple of guys sitting at it. They were talking about old memories of the Mojacks and the one guy asked the other if he remembered Pierre Leduc.

"Of course I remember him. He was great. What a horrible way to die though."

"I heard he was getting something out of his freezer when he had a seizure and he fell in and froze to death."

"Yeah, that's what I heard too."

Missing Uranus

I had just started a new contract in Pickering for a company working for the Nuclear Plant.

Having worked a couple of years in the industry at this point, I already knew a few of the people in my new group.

The people I knew arranged for my section to take me out to lunch to welcome me. It was fun, old memories came up of previous projects and good times over the past years.

As we were all laughing and having a good time, Abdul said to me with a laugh, "You know Max, you should thank Jamal. If it was not for him, you would not be here today!"

Jamal then laughed and got up from his seat, picked up his glass and made a toast in his broken English, "Max, I do not mind admitting that I am glad I missed your anus"

Everyone broke out into laughter as this apparently was an inside joke. They were laughing and smiling and patting me on the back and so I just smiled and nodded, having absolutely no idea at all what was going on. I just told myself to be happy I was working again.

It was two weeks before I found out that Jamal and Abdul had both wanted someone different to fill the vacant position at work. The boss hiring didn't care which person filled the job (it was a junior position) and so he left it to them to decide. Abdul wanted me and Jamal wanted someone else.

They settled this over the Mensa challenge (logic quiz) at the back of the Toronto Star...which was to name all the planets in our solar system.

Yes, Jamal apparently missed Uranus and that is why I got the job.

You cannot imagine the relief that instantly washed over me. :-)

The whole two weeks I was under the impression that Jamal was making some wierd sexual joke during his toast my first day.

He, like the others in the group, being new immigrants and speaking English as a second (or third or fourth) language had absolutely no idea of the meaning of the words I thought were being said.

Although Jamal did wonder why I had been keeping my distance.

Frappuccino Fun

I had just finished shopping for the birthday of a new girlfriend, having spent the better part of the morning at the Eaton Centre in downtown Toronto.

Having woken up late that morning and realized that she was coming over soon to open her birthday gifts, i had been in a bit of a panic. As per usual, I had bought her nothing prior to the day of her birthday.

So I grabbed one of the few baseball hats I have, threw on some clothes and took a cab to the mall.

After finishing the feat of buying her a plethora of gifts and still having an hour before she was to show, I had a true sense of accomplishment. I mean I was feeling pretty good about me at that point.

I decided to get something to drink on my way out of the mall. I had recently seen someone having an Orange Crème Frappuccino from Starbucks and it had looked pretty good. When I arrived at the Starbucks inside the mall i went in and ordered one.

I placed all the heavy bags in my left hand so my right hand was free for the drink. The girl behind the counter passed it to me and as I grabbed it my hat fell off.

My first reaction, probably out of embarrassment because of my hair being unwashed, was to quickly grab my hat to keep it on my head instead of just letting it fall off onto the floor.

Both of my hands went for the hat but as the left one was carrying the heavy bags it didn't raise up more than an inch or two....but the right hand, carrying the Orange Crème Frappuccino dove at the hat and caught it before it even fell from my head.

Of course in doing so, the cup in my hand smashed against my skull and three-quarters of the Frappuccino ended up on top of my head and was now dripping down my face.

The look on the girl's face was pure surprise, a combination of shock and laughter.

All I could say was, "Ah. There is NOTHING like a Frappuccino on a hot day.... "

I haven't been back since.

The American Terrorist

Terry Price is one of the Americans who has been contracting in the nuclear industry for over 30 years and has taught me all about being a Nuclear W hore. Terry and I worked together in Pickering for a few years under Elizabeth Maryan.

One afternoon during the summer Terry left work early to drive with his wife Susan to pick up their kids from the Buffalo airport as they were flying in from visiting their mom in the southern US. The Polish Chicken told Terry he could leave early if he took some work home with him.

So, Terry and Susan drove from Pickering to Buffalo with Susan driving and Terry trying to look at OPG paperwork. Their trip was uneventful, that is until they reached the US border.

This was just after 9/11 and the US had installed radiation monitors at the border. Apparently, the day before, Susan had undergone a medical procedure for which they gave her a radioactive dye.

Susan's radioactive treatment caused all the alarms to go off all once and Terry and Susan soon found themselves surrounded by armed guards.

When the head guard peeked inside the car he found Terry surrounded in nuclear plant documentation; specifically drawings of the Pickering Nuclear Generating Station.

Before you could say “9-11”, Terry found himself on the hood of the car in a spread eagle position, being frisked with rubber gloves for hidden weapons of mass destruction, desperately screaming, “I’m not a terrorist! I was born in Alabama!”

The best part was when the border police called up Elizabeth at OPG to verify Terry's story. They said, "Ms. Maryan, can you confirm that a Terry Price works for you at Ontario Power Generation and can you verify that you gave him approval to carry design documents of the Pickering station."

She was so afraid of herself getting into trouble she didn't answer any of the questions...she panicked and hung up on them...honestly. She explained later to Terry that she wanted to talk to one of OPG's lawyers first.

As a result, Terry spent the night in cell number 3.

Periodically throughout the night the guards would hear a cry of, "But I'm from Alabama!"

Port Perry Wedding

With summer upon us so is the time for weddings....and wedding stories.

My favourite wedding memory took place in the Port Perry area at a family wedding. It was such a classic experience of small town weddings that I feel the need to share it.

The groom's speech was 20 seconds or so. Instead of trying to interpret the meaning of his words I thought I would just write down exactly what he said and you can contemplate your own interpretation.

"Hey. What's goin' on? Listen. I just want to say a few things about my three groomsmen here and my best man. We've all known each other a long time and we've been through a lot together. They know what I'm talkin' about. I don't need to say anything more about that.

"I wrote some words for each guy up here that I'd like to say now. To Cornish, what's up? Seriously man. We've been through a lot together. We've lived beside each other since I was 5. I don't need to say anything more about that.

"To Harm, what's up? We've known each other since we first played hockey together. We've been through a lot. I don't think I need to say anything more about that.

"To Leasky, what's up. This guy likes to drink. We've partied a lot over the years and he always got me home somehow, even when he was way too wasted to be driving. Thanks man. I don't need to say anything more about that.

"And finally to Leasker, my best man" (yes, they both had the same last name...and so one was called Leasky and the other Leasker). The groom continued, "Leasker. What's up? I know you've been through a lot. You know I've been through a lot. Seriously man. Anyway, I don't think I need to say anything more about that."

The interesting part about the groom's speech was the fact that I think I was the only one who wasn't moved to tears by his words. I guess you just had to be there but seriously, every time he said "I don't think I need to say anything more about that".. women would look at each other and quietly nod as if they completely understood the hidden meaning.

The men in attendence just sat staring down at their dinner plates trying desperately to control this emotional rollercoaster the groom was taking us on.

I shouldn't say that I was the only one in room not moved to tears for there was a young lady that didn't seem to be listening to the speech. Her table was at the very back of the room....you know the table that is always at the back of every wedding and is filled with the friends of friends from work and the local parole officer.

I don't believe this young lady was touched by the groom's speech and the only reason I suggest this is because she kept saying in a very loud, very drunken voice directed at her date, "This is f*ckin ridiculous. I shouldn't even be here; you're not even my boss today. You hear me? You're not my f*ckin' boss; not today you're not. It's Saturday..so you can kiss my *ss." The little princess didn't get a chance to say much more than this as she passed out on her dinner plate.

I did see her date and his friend grab her, one by the legs and the other by the hands, and carry her out the door. What I heard later was that once they got out to his pickup truck they tossed her like a bag of potatoes into the back of his truck and then came back in, sat down and resumed dinner like nothing had happened.

During dinner, someone at my table noticed a penny under her plate. We quickly assumed this meant that the woman had won a prize of some sort, perhaps the floral centrepiece. She seemed very excited when the MC got onto the mic and said, "Everyone check under your plate. Now at each table there is one person who has a penny under their plate. Does each table have their selected person?"

The woman at our table jumped up and held her penny high in the air as did each winner in the room.

"Okay.", the MC continued, "now y'all have been selected to clear the dishes from the table. Can you please take the dishes to the large garbage bin out back beside the porta-potta and clean them off and stick'em in the boxes in the back of Leasky's truck. He's gotta get these back to his old lady's restaurant before her boss comes in tomorrow."

Needlesstosay, the lucky woman at our table wasn't entirely impressed with her prize.

The one part of the night that stands out more than anything else took place while I was talking to my young cousin, Amber who is the first cousin of the groom.

Amber's husband had left the party early as he had to work and she and I were having a drink and talking about funny family stories.

Her Uncle Tony, the groom's father staggers by us in a drunken haze, sees Amber and stops to say hi. "How are you doin? " He then leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Now, as he leaned in and got close he must of simply forgotten that this was his young niece. I only say this as he decided against the cheek kiss and proceeded to stick his tongue down her throat.

During this entire time I was lucky enough to have front row seats to this event. When he finished he looked up, noticed me and said with glazed eyes, "She's my neice, isn't she great?"...assuming that, being family, I would know as well as he did how great this young lady was. As she left to go rinse her mouth out with soap and a few shots of single malt scotch she muttered something along the lines of him being f*cking gross and lucky that this was his son's wedding.

But the true icing on this Port Perry cake, was, after Amber left, i was still in such a state of shock that I went to my cousin Darrell and told him what had just transpired. His reply of, "Well. It's not like they're blood relatives. He's only her uncle cause he married her aunt." This seemed to make perfect sense to Darrell and after he finished speaking a look of accomplishment came across his face. I believe he felt like he had saved the family's reputation through his quick thinking. Then he left to go find his first cousin Amber. I only assume his intention was to provide her with the same family attention and care that his uncle had.

I don't think I need to say anything more about that.

Groundhog Day

I have an idea for Port Perry.

For those who don't know Port Perry (pronounced Pot Pourri) is the small town I grew up in and is located an hour east of Toronto just north of Oshawa.

To explain my idea I need to preface it by saying that most people in Port Perry are red-necks who live for beer, hunting, tractor-pulls and off-road vehicles.

There is no time of year that proves this more than snowmobile season. Each year, as the first flakes are hitting the ground so are the guys on their snowmobiles. As sparks shoot out under their tracks from the friction caused by the lack of snow they race around town.

For some reason all snowmobilers are drawn to the lake. Before it is fully frozed, snowmobile tracks cover the entire area. This has been a real problem for Port Perry in the past. One year thirteen people drowned in a few weeks from snowmobiling on the lake prematurely.

Now, one death or two or even three is tragic...but thirteen?? That is simply culling of the herd. As one news reporter was on the shoreline of Lake Scugog in Port Perry talking about the tenth drowning victim you could barely hear her report from the sound of snowmobiles going past her on the ice. As she gave her report, another guy went through into the water...I only wish I was kidding.

So here is my idea for Groundhog Day in Port Perry; every February 2nd send a snowmobiler across the lake. If he comes back that means winter will last another six weeks. If he doesn't...well, spring is right around the corner.

Patrick and the Prostitute

Patrick is one of the last few "nice guys"; he is a true gentleman.

A few years ago, Patrick was moving into a new apartment across from the park on Jarvis near Gerrard in Toronto. For those unfamiliar with the area, prostitutes line the streets at night.

The night Patrick moved into his place was cold and rainy. As he unpacked and set up his apartment he could see from his window a young lady outside wearing very little; a tiny skirt and a cropped shirt.

He thought to himself how cold she must be from the rain and wind. As the downpour grew so did his sympathy for her; until finally he couldn’t take seeing someone suffer so much and he braved the outdoors to run across the street to her. He handed her an umbrella and said, “I can’t do much about the cold but this should keep you dry. When you’re done with…your shift….just hand it in to the concierge of the building across the street and I’ll pick it up in the morning.”

Although he probably couldn’t see it because of the dark and the rain, the young girl started to tear up as he was saying this. It was the first unselfish act that someone had done for her in a long time. As he started to leave to run back to the shelter of his apartment, she called out to him, “What is your name anyway?” to which he yelled back “Patrick”. “Thanks Patrick, you are a true sweetheart.”

Patrick went to bed that night feeling really proud of what he had done. In fact, the next afternoon as he was getting ready for his date he was still feeling good about himself. It was a blind date that his mother had arranged; the niece of their local pastor.

Her name was Melissa and they agreed to meet at Patrick’s apartment to go to dinner. He was looking sharp when she arrived at his door.

As Melissa and Patrick left his apartment and started the usual get-to-know-each-other chatter a woman behind them cried out, “Patrick! Patrick!” He turned behind him to see the prostitute from last night. She was waving madly with a big smile on her face, “Thanks again Patrick for last night; you are wonderful. Your lady there is really lucky to be with a man like you.”

Patrick’s face went bright red as he gave a small wave of recognition and turned to walk quickly away; Melissa could barely keep up. “Thanks again for last night?? What was that all about Patrick?” “Oh…she was really wet and I…” he stuttered, obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation.

They were then greeted by "Hi Patrick" by two ladies of the night who were walking by. Apparently word had spread of Patrick's kindess.

"For someone so new in town you sure have met a lot of the locals", said Melissa.

Later, over dinner at a local restaurant, as Patrick and Melissa were getting to know each other, there was suddenly banging on the window. They looked to see two more ladies waving at Patrick from outside. Although they couldn't hear what they were yelling it was obvious Patrick was already a local neighbourhood celebrity.

Both Melissa and Patrick pretended not to notice and both just carried on with dinner.

In fact, Patrick was wondering if perhaps Melissa was oblivious to the nature of these women's occupation...perhaps she thought they were just friendly neighours.

He did think that. Right up until he heard the voicemail left by his Mother a few days later.

"Patrick, why did the Pastor ask me to remind you that hanging out with the local Mary Magdalene's does not make you Jesus Christ? What did he mean by that?"

Needlesstosay, Patrick didn't get set up on any more blind dates.

The Count

Bernie Teper, like Elizabeth, was originally from Poland and has a thick accent even though he has lived in Canada more years than not. To me he's always sounded like the Count from Sesame Street.

Bernie worked at the OPG Head Office in Toronto and helped the engineering design groups at the nuclear plants with the interpretation of the Codes and Regulations. Bernie and I worked together to ensure we obtained all the necessary regulatory approvals for the penetrations through the airlock walls.

As he was looking at all the drawings and other documentation for the design he said, “I don’t see a reviewer signature on your calculations for the penetration. I will review and sign.”

It was true that I didn’t have anyone to review and sign; I was the only mechanical engineer in my group and we usually went outside the group to get someone to act as reviewer.

As there is a legal responsibility to reviewing and signing the calculations I said, “Are you sure Bernie? I can get someone else from the stress analysis group to perform the review.”

He smiled a little condescendingly, shook his head and said, “Max, Max, Max. Let me tell you something about a man named Bernie Teper. I graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Mechanical Engineering when I was only 20 years of age. I specialized in finite element calculations and stress analysis. I obtained my Masters Degree in the area of stress calculations when I was only 22 years of age. I have written many mathematical papers on the subject of stress analysis….”

I stopped him at this point and said, “I’m sorry Bernie, I didn’t mean to offend. Of course you are more than qualified to perform the review. I would be very honoured if you would.”

“Good, good, good”, he replied, “so let us begin. On the one side of the airlock you have six new penetrations and on the other side you have eight new penetrations.”

“Okay”, he began, “so, you have a total of 13 penetrations…”