While visiting Ottawa, Rachelle and I went skating on the Rideau Canal on Saturday. Due to a variety of unanticipated events, I fell 16 times in a row. Thankfully, I was very drunk so the pain was minimal, but one of the results of my falls was that I lost the left lens out of my glasses. I didn’t realize that this had actually happened for nearly 12 hours, believing that my blurry vision was caused by drunkenness and a probable concussion.
At any rate, the revelation of my broken glasses led Rachelle and I to the Lenscrafter at the St. Laurent shopping mall on Sunday. While Rachelle ran some other errands and I tried on a variety of frames, (Flirty! Intellectual! Hip! Moronic!) I bumped into Randy Rafter.
Randy and I, you should know, went to junior high together where we became lifelong enemies. It was here where he mercilessly teased me for wearing a red windbreaker that I hoped would give me the cool, masculine vibe of Michael Jackson in his Thriller video.
According to Randy, it did not.
He liked to call me Mur-fag and often punched me in the back of the head.
Randy: “ Can I help you find some glasses, sir?”
Me: “Randy? Randy Rafter?!”
Randy: “Mur-fag?”
Me: “ Yes, yes, it is Mur-fag!”
Randy: “ I’m a fireman, you know, but I’m on disability, so I’m just helping out here for a bit. Showing some leadership.”
Me: “Sound illegal!”
Randy: “ Got hurt saving a brother. It’s was a pretty big deal, got written up in the Ottawa Citizen. The online edition.”
Me: “Cool! Hey, last time I bumped into you a few years ago, you were following the Tragically Hip around on tour. You still doing that?”
Randy: “ 21 years in a row. You can’t beat the Hip. I couldn’t help but notice that you follow me on Twitter.”
Me: “ Yes, I’m always interested in your thoughts on the government, and of course, the Tragically Hip updates you post.”
Randy: “ You’re just one of 364 Mur-fag. 364 people follow TheRafterRockReport.”
Me: “ I’ve been working out with a Kettlebell. Sometimes I carry it up the stairs.”
Randy: “Carrying a Kettlebell up the stairs sound gay. Like something a little girl would do. I carry unconscious and dying people up stairs in clouds of smoke and flames.”
Me: “ And sell glasses.”
Randy: “Michael Jackson is dead, Mur-fag, the Hip are still going strong.”
Me: (Couldn’t think of anything to say)
Randy: “ Asad, will you look after this older, weaker man, he’ll need something in nerd.”
And then Randy faked punching me in the face and walked away.