Hey Business Tax! Let my people go!

Sam Katz: I may not be Moses, but I did part the red sea!

-heard on CBC radio

Is “cultural differences” a polite way of saying “penis size”…?

I’m trying to finish the reading for my class, as I wait on Selkirk for the #16. A cheerful middle-aged lady sits down next to me. I smile politely at her, then look back to my book.

Cheerful Middle-Aged Lady: What are you reading? (she looks at my book and reads the title aloud) “Preparing for Peace: Conflict Transformation Across Cultures”. What’s that about?

Me: It’s for one of my conflict resolution classes, “Conflict and Culture.” (I glance at her, then look back at my book)

Cheerful Middle-Aged Lady: (nodding sagely) Oh yeah, conflict resolution. I’ve heard of that. I took a course once… So that’s about racism?

Me: No, conflict… and culture… (Brief summary of how “culture” is more than just “race”)

Cheerful Middle-Aged Lady: Yeah (nodding again) It’s not about the colour of people’s skin, it’s cultural differences… You can’t just judge people by their skin. I know this one guy, a black guy, and boy is he attractive! (fans herself with her hand) Something about those black guys! (laughs) Sometimes I have these fantasies… oooh, that guy gets my heart pumping. He calls me “Shelly”, although that’s not my name, but I say, he can call me whatever he wants! (sighs passionately) Sometimes I fantasize about… mmmm…

Me: Uhh-

“Shelly”: (with a disappointed sigh) …Not like I’d ever act on those fantasies though! If I had to choose, I’d always choose a black man. You know?

Me: Uhh…

“Shelly”: Like if I had to decide between being with a black man and being with an aboriginal man, I’d choose the black man. It’s not about their race or the colour of their skin… eh? It’s the cultural differences. Of, course, I’d always prefer a white man…

Me: Uh, yeah… (trying to think of a way to end this conversation) …yeah, cultural differences… Hey look, the bus is here!


She follows me to the back of the bus, sits across from me, and tries to make eye contact to continue the conversation, but I look steadily at my book until she looks away.

My Button says "I love the Weirdos"

Loud Bus Man: (pointing at button on a girl's backpack) What does your badge say?
Button Girl: I love Metric
Loud Bus Man: Wow. I've heard about people lovin some crazy things, but I've never heard of anyone loving the Metric system before.
Button Girl: It's a band.
Loud Bus Man: (deflated) Oh.

-overheard on the #60

This is Canada, the FBI have no jurisdiction here.

Paranoid Man: I'd like a comment card, right now.
Library Worker: Okay...
PM: They are keeping a secret file on me on the 3rd floor. They know my name and all my information.

At this point he grabs the comment card, takes out a marker and begins making long strokes, scribbles and dots - nothing that resembles the English language.

PM: I'm writing this in hieroglyphics. Only the FBI and one retired cop in Winnipeg know how to read this.
...

He'll be in later today.

-overheard at the millennium library

Dancing Gabe

How have we neglected this weirdo for so long?

Actually, Hera is Zeus's wife. Aphrodite is his daughter.

Tweenie Bopper: ... no, I could be Zeus. You could be Aphrodite.
Tweenie With Less Experience in Greek Myth: Who's Aphrodite?
TB: She's, like, Zeus' wife.
TWLEGM: Aphrodite is his wife?
TB: Yeah!
TWLEGM: How do you know all of this?
TB: I watched Hercules.
TWLEGM: Oh, COOL!

Weirdos without stories

Occasionally we either hear about or see weirdos who should be included here, but who are brought to our attention without an accompanying anecdote. If you happen to see these weirdos around the city, keep your eyes and ears open, and send us any stories connected with them. Here are a few of these:

The Broom Man
Anyone else run into the guy with the brooms on the number 11 bus? Nice enough guy. Always a new unwrapped broom whether he is going or coming, always has a broom. Wears a really long scarf, and a grey beard.

The Cowboy Man on Regent
There's a scrawny skinny older man that can often be seen somewhere on Regent Ave between Plessis and Day. He's skinnier than a 12 year old girl and always dressed in cowboy duds. He's quite the familiar sight, and anyone who drives down Regent regularly would probably know what you're talking about if you asked them if they've seen the Cowboy Man on Regent.

The Wannabe Bay Shopper
The frail guy outside The Bay Vaughan doors who shouts "I can't afford anything!" to every single person who passes by.

Bartholomew Cubbins
A downtown man who wears several hats all piled on top of each other, and often several jackets as well, no matter what the weather is.

You aren't actually a weirdo. You're just the essense of weirdo.

Girl: ... and pickles please.
Guy: Why do you always order pickles on your sub? You always just pick them all off.
Girl: I don't like actual pickles. I just like the essence of pickle.

-overheard in a subway on grant

[insert your own "bite me" joke here]

I was walking by the bus stop in front of Kildonan Place when a gentleman of slimy descent came up and told me I looked yummy.

Then he bit me on the shoulder, turned on his heel and walked away saying, “yup, I was right!”

What happened to the good old days of flowers, or at least exchanging names before the first bite??

-thanks to julie for the submission

Here, have a diet pepsi

Some EMO kid is going out through a door from the mall. An older suit type is walking in.

Suit: You're going the wrong way.

EMO kid: So, huh? (keeps walking)

Suit: (turns around, yelling) You are going the wrong way with your whole life!

(brief pause)

EMO: You are SO OLD!

-overheard in grant park

-thanks to kevin for the submission

Logic in action

So I'm sitting on my front step and a couple of kids go by on a bike - one is doing the biking, the other is riding on the back.

Driver: Would you rather be Canadian or American?
Rider: American!
Driver: Why?
Rider: Because if Hitler ruled, they never would have invented bikes and
we'd have to walk everywhere.

-thanks to jane for the submission

Beware the Pig Man

This submission is really meant to more of a warning than a story. It is all true, and my therapist said writing it down would be good for me.

It was September of 1998. I had just moved into an oversized, under-kept apartment on Jubilee. It was cheap, and since I had no job it was the right price for me. I moved in with a couple of roomies and my poodle. I also moved in with a few fake wooden cacti, that adorned the front of the building at the Jubille overpass for a number of years (until I finished school and got the hell outta there!).

I had sent my poodle outside on her leash, and gone back up the stairs to my apartment. No sooner was I up the stairs than I heard my dog barking, and a horrible screaming sound. Kinda like a pig being burned alive in the fire.

I ran down the stairs, afraid that some real dog had gotten ahold of my poodle.
When I burst out the door and into the yard, I saw the poodle straining at her leash, and a man backed up against the side of the house too scared to move. I called my dog to me, and apologizied to the poor man. The man ran off without looking at me, grabbed his rake, jumped on his old 10 speed, and took off down the back lane.

If the events of this story could just have stopped here, that would have been great. If the man had just run away and left, no problems. I could have gone on with my life. But no. The man had to turn around as he left.

He looked over his shoulder, and looked at me with his beady black pig eyes, and it was then that I took in all his features.

He had a pushed up nose, sharp white teeth, and ears that point ever so slightly. He prefers to wear old blue button up shirts, and kaki shorts, with penny loafers. Which look like hooves.

Shuddering, I went inside. Vowing to be a better dog owner and more careful of the freaks of Fort Gary.

A few days later I came home with my dog, walked up the stairs. I went into the kitchen, and there was Pig-Man crouching down on the floor, rooting under the sink.

I lost it. I should have run at him, or yelled at him, but instead I ran into the living room to ask my roomies who was in the kitchen, and why?

I was so scared that this man was in my house. Both my roomies thought my tears and whimpering were funny, and they mocked me, and told me they thought I was making things up. There was a man in our kitchen! How could I be making it up?

When I went back to the kitchen on my own, ready to do some damage or throw something at him, he was gone. The kitchen cupboards were open under the sink. Nothing appeared to be taken. The side door was open.

After this, I went down to the shelter and got a bigger dog. And pig man never came around my house again.

-thanks to kevin for the submission

I forgive you. This time.

FSD has appointed himself the doorman of our building. He waits on the steps, in the shadows, and when he sees me approaching he hurriedly unlocks the door.

I'm not sure if he thinks I don't have a key, or if he simply enjoys being helpful. I'm also unsure if he opens the door for everyone or only for me.

Recently I came home and walked in the door just after him, unlocking the door with my own key as I did so. When he saw me enter, he turned and said "Oh! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me, it won't happen again!"

Free Spirit...ed energy?

Down-to-earth Girl: She doesn't lock her door. She says she's a free spirit, but it's not her stuff getting stolen!



overheard on the #18

Maybe if he played the guitar better, it wouldn't seek satisfaction elsewhere.

Dude: ...it's like sleeping with a guys girlfriend, stealing his guitar. It's just low.

overheard on the #18