The eyes have it...

The final chapter!

SATURDAY (cont'd)
At this point, you're probably wondering why I would want to go ahead with a silly old roadtrip. It's part one of a three-trip month, that's why! So Calgary is pretty much a practice. And I suppose it's good to get the shitty trip out of the way before the others come along, because they'll be much more awesome.

So now I had my eye drops and everybody had eaten and we were almost to Calgary. We drove toward my boyfriend's buddy's house, figuring we still had time for a pre-concert nap and supper. No, his friend may as well live in Airdrie, because we drove into the city to practically drive out of it again. It was a half-an-hour of urban sprawl. And to make it even better, our hotel was in the opposite direction!

But we had his GPS and Garmin ensured us that we would get to the hotel with enough time to check in and shower. But once we checked in and chose our beds, I asked Elle where Hawksley Workman was performing at -- after all, she ordered the tickets, so she would know. But no, neither of us had a clue where Flames Central was and when we punched the name of the place into Garmin, it didn't know either! So we tried the old fashioned way of searching the phone book -- and it wasn't in there either. I called the front desk and asked for the address, which the concierge had to google. When I punched the coordinates into Garmin, it still couldn't find this place.

Elle: "I think it's like the Saddledome or Pengrowth."

Me: "I don't think Hawksley's fanbase calls for a big venue. He's more of an intimate-club guy."

One last time on Garmin before deciding to give up, the address popped up and we were about 15 minutes from the location. Sweet! But Elle didn't want to miss the will-call pickup time and we had to head over immediately. No shower to wash off that hospital smell for me. :(

We arrive there early and decide to grab a quick bite at the McDonald's across the way, but no monster meal, because we're going to order a pizza to the room and watch late-night TV. In the McDonald's, a cashier frees up and a short, stumpy Australian woman burlies ahead of me and Elle. When I call her on the fact that I was next, she makes it seem like I don't know what I'm doing. Jesus Christ, lady -- just 'cause you're in Canada doesn't mean you can be rude to the Canadians. But she was a bitch all the way around, because we watched as she got her food and she opened every box and wrap at the till to check that the cashier didn't do the old switcheroo on her precious quarter-pounder. I think she doubly pissed me off because she was just another friggin' tourist with a belly pack and one of those ridiculous Stampede, boot-scoot-boogyin' 10 gallon hats. I don't care if it's the Stampede -- if it's not 1880 or you're not a cowboy, don't wear the hat.

Sorry, I'm a little off track. Well, we made it to the Hawksley concert. Read my review here. And fall in love with the Library Voices here.

Hawksley went long. Too long. My eyes and body hurt from adventures at the hospital. As we drive out of the parking lot, I end up driving Elle's car down the wrong side of the road! I pull a quicky u-turn and we search frantically for a sign that says no right turns. Surprise, there isn't one. I guess on a relatively empty street in a strange city, I'm supposed to just know this. And Garmin was being too slow to pick up on the satellites. By the time we're at the hotel, we're too tired to even take our shoes off, let alone order a pizza.

SUNDAY
By the next morning, I get up early for the complimentary breakfast. Elle may as well be dead to the world, so I have a quick shower, hoping she'll wake up while I'm at it. No, she's still asleep. So I rest my eyes and once she wakes up and is ready, we have about 30 minutes of free breakfast left. So it wasn't the freshest, but it was much needed after a day of road food.

We head off to the zoo. This time Elle drives and we get there with no problems, thanks to Garmin and clear heads. There was no line to get in and parking was free. We see a skunk and baby mule deer(s) (there was two, but the plural of deer doesn't show well here). There's a baby moose and the grizzly bear is out and about. We even see the koalas and watch the manta rays in their (former-)touch pool. Then we chillax with a cool slush and by this time it's 3:30 and we've seen everything we could possibly see.

I text my boyfriend that we'll pick him up at 5pm, sooner than we said we would. He said that works, because he and his buddy are just leaving the Stampede for home. Excellent. After a brief look through the gift shop we head to the car. Elle gives me her keys to make the long drive out to the buddy's house and then I notice something odd.

Me: "Elle, did you forget to lock your door?"

Elle: "What, no-ohmygodletmeinletmein!!!"

Some degenerate fuckface broke into Elle's car! Well, broke is a bad word, because she drives a late model Honda, which pretty much any thief has a "key" to. He just snapped the lock open with no damage. Except fuckface got into the glovebox and stole my boyfriend's beloved Garmin and Elle's iPod! I start bawling and Elle looks completely dejected.

Elle: "That's all I had left. I have no job, I have no iPod."

Me: (sniffle, sob) "We have to call the police. I have to call Ken. He can come get us."

Elle: "They can't take my birthday!"

We call Ken, but his buddy won't come get us. Instead, his buddy's wife gives me directions while I'm bawling like a fool. I don't want to help myself, woman! I want to go home and curl into a ball and try to remember the world before I was poked at, sleep-deprived, eye-cootied and made a victim of cowardly crime.

But no, we manage to find our way back despite being without poor Garmin (at least the crackhead who stole it didn't have to blow anyone that night to get their fix. Fuckface). I am completely miserable, but my usually down in the dumps companion is surprisingly in control.

Elle: "It's funny. I bought that iPod when I started at [the place that sacked me]. The day after I lose my job, I lose my iPod. It's funny. But they can't take my birthday!"

When we get to Ken, he's not upset at all. Easy come, easy go. Garmin was acquired illegally from a co-worker of his dad and bought at a too-good-to-be-true price for the fancy GPS. It's the circle of (criminal) life.

After that, the trip home was marginally better. But I know one thing's for sure: Don't leave anything in your glovebox that you're even remotely fond of. And don't buy a pop-and-unlock Honda. And don't see Hawksley Workman unless you're well rested. And don't attempt a roadtrip weekend that starts at the hospital. Seriously.

The end...or is it...?

Yeah, it is. ;)

-Girl on the Corner (hoping for a better vacation in B.C.)