Olympic Trauma Cycle
Olympic Lodging Needed
SWM—Olympic Lodging Needed—February 12–26, 2010 (Vancouver)
Phoebe has sublet our apartment. Phoebe is staying with her friend and I’m left to fend for myself. Yes, no phone and no home, and when I stumble down familiar streets I’ll end up . . . who knows where.
Will you let me stay at your place? I promise I won’t do the following:
- puke (inside, or out a window)
- piss in the shower
- steal
- break things and not replace them
- give empty guarantees to help
- “borrow” clothes
- snoop
- make messes I know I won’t clean up
- walk around in my gonch
- catch anyone masturbating (although it may be funny afterwards)
- treat the hosts like the help
- have sex and not clean it up
- give hosts sick (not the first bullet, but colds, flu, etc.)
- become self-conscious about writing a thank-you note to the point of not writing the thank-you note!
But I will write you a thank-you note, I will!
The First Night on My Own
Late afternoon—on the bus
It’s just about time to head to my first new friend’s apartment. I’m actually writing this stuff down on paper! I will have to enter it into Phoebe’s computer once she lets me into our apartment. I should have never given her my keys, but she kept up my part of our deal so I had no choice.
I bought some shrimp and walnuts at the supermarket yesterday. I unwrapped the shrimp and threw the Styrofoam into a recycling container, and wrapped the shrimp up in the cellophane. Unfortunately, I forgot them in my coat pocket. The shrimp became mush, and I’m finishing off the walnuts as I write this. I feel very optimistic about what is to come, but I think my coat stinks of shrimp.
Night
I can’t believe Phoebe got me into this mess—literally!
There are dirty clothes strewn everywhere. I can only presume they’re not clean because I refuse to touch them, and who hangs clean clothes on the floor?
I have to snake my way around piles of objects, and I’ve used the same dishes over again. I think my host believes I’m being polite and expects me to clean other dishes but . . . my mind is on other things. Things are strained. Grrr. I rarely get mad but I raged so much on the phone this afternoon that I felt ripples come from me, as if I were a stone at the instant it breaks the water’s surface. It isn’t his fault; I am demanding, honest and difficult, so I’ve been told . . .
Phoebe! This mess!
~JB
The Host City Opens Its Doors
I left that sty before my host woke up.
Phoebe hung out with me until 9:30 a.m. (when she had to go to work) and returned my key to our apartment. So I crashed on our couch while the subletters were out.
I’m now staying with Raymond and Rachel. They were the second people who answered my post asking for temporary housing. This is not my home. Something is strange.
~
Rachel offered to let me use their computer . . . The desktop photo—I only have moments to write, but I think I should type what I can just in case anything happens to me, document my last hours.
Phoebe, you still have the address? If you don’t hear from me every couple hours, get here quick! It’s so clean in this apartment. The total opposite from last night. Give me a pile of clothes . . . No, it’s okay.
~JB
I cut myself on a pâté knife. Raymond went to the bathroom to get me a Band-Aid and Rachel came back, and now she’s left again to get the Band-Aid.
~JB
The exchanges I’m having with Raymond and Rachel are becoming more interesting. One disappears for a time, and the other comes out. I asked Rachel if Raymond was going to join us for dinner (I thought it polite to accept dinner), but she said he had become ill. The dinner was delicious and I am not ashamed to say I had seconds.
Once finished, Rachel made up a plate and disappeared into the bedroom to feed Raymond before returning to give me a tour of their living room, the spare bedroom, the den, the bathrooms, the atrium, the laundry facilities and the sun decks.
It’s a beautiful view, and I took her “help yourself to the bar” offer at face value.
I’m sitting on the deck, and I’m going to post a copy of the desktop photo, but first I have to move a few things around.
~
I am so lucky!
I was moving icons around on the desktop when Raymond came out! This is the exchange we had:
Ray: I’m feeling better but now Rachel isn’t feeling so great.
Me: That’s too bad.
Ray: I see you’re helping yourself to the vodka.
Me: Sorry, I . . .
Ray: Did she tell you it was okay?
Me: Yes . . . Is it okay?
Ray: Do you like men or women?
Me: I have a girlfriend I love very much.
Ray: What does love have to do with it?
Now he’s disappeared again!
If I make it through the night only needing one Band-Aid, I’m lucky!
~
I have to be more careful.
I am going to need to sleep, and I’ve had too much vodka not to sleep soundly.
Do you think they could have put something in my drink?
Best and only thing to do—drink my way through it!
~JB
I’m using Raychel’s computer to e-mail myself this entry. Once I realized what was going on, I just kept filling the glasses. I kept moving and bringing up Phoebe and how much we’re in love, and finally I turned around and walked into the guest bedroom without saying a word. I feel bad.
I ruined “their” night, but as I listen to the snoring heap on the couch, I don’t feel so bad about my predicament. It’s difficult when someone doesn’t live the way they would like to, and then they impose it upon a stranger when all he wants to do is sleep, but . . . we worked it out, or at least tried to make an amiable agreement.
Raychel offered to make me breakfast, which I plan to eat.
~JB
Narwhal is an arts magazine from Vancouver, BC, that publishes well-told and often funny stories.