Montreal: Day 4

22 August 2007, 21:24 | ,

Forth Day: Shopping Spree!
Montreal has all those fantastic fancy stores that we don’t get in bargain-bin Winnipeg. I found a French Connection shirt that was pimp, as well as some nice fitting jeans. We walked into one store that had the nicest stuff I had ever seen – 300 dollars an item. One day I will have the kind of money that lets me drop 300 on a pair of jeans. This was not that day. We left quickly.

We were getting hungry, so we thought we would go to the Hard Rock Cafe. We sit down in a jumble of music paraphernalia. A waitress comes over and places to menus in front of us with a “Bonjour-Hello!”, takes our drink order, and walks off. I pick up a menu. I stare into the mass of black letters on the pages. Normally, this is were the information encrypted in these masses comes out. Not so. I realize the menu is in French…

FLASHBACK TO GRADE 8 FRENCH CLASS
Me: I hate French. Seriously, I have no interest in learning this. and even if I did, I have serious doubts about whether this class could really teach me French.

French Teacher: You have to learn this. It’s in the curriculum, which means you have to be here.

Me: That’s crap, I know for a fact that until grade 9, none of this reflects me in any way. No credits, nothing. I’m leaving.

French Teacher: (to other students) he’ll be back.

I never went to another French class for the rest of my grade 8 year. I skipped everyday I had French. So fun.

BACK TO PRESENT

“Damn, I shouldn’t have skipped French.” I say, trying to remember the little French I did know.

“Awesome. I know what I’m ordering” Iain proclaims as he places his menu on the table.

I look from Iain to his menu. How could he possibly read French. Could he speak it too? Why has he been keeping it a secret for all these years? Damn him, his abilities reflect my faults. The memories of skipping French class start to loose their incandescence. They turn to an embarrassing smear as I speak.

“You’re French…must be really good”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“You ordered really fast. I didn’t know you could read French”
“What?”
“DAMMIT MAN, Come out with it! You can speak it to, can’t you!? Why didn’t you tell me this before? I could be balls deep in Montreal’s finest ass right now!***”
“This menu is in English”
“What?”

(***False. Every single person we met spoke English. They just
didn’t seem to be interested. Probably all lesbians.)

I pick up the menu, and flip through the pages. Sure enough, I see things like “Champion Burger, 3 Cheese Penne, and Rocker Burger”

“Oh, so you don’t read French?”
“Well, probably more than you. You skipped every French class for a year, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah I remember”
“That was so awesome, the teacher never thought you would actually do it.”
“It was awesome, wasn’t it?”

We ate our meals, drank our beer, and left satisfied.

For some reason, we did all of our restaurant eating in one day. That night we went to a ribs place. So good, except I wish I had been more hungry.

I collapsed into my hotel bed, feeling very full.

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