Surprise! I’m on my way to Montréal.
This should only come as a surprise for people who are aware of my legendarily bad travel habits.
Montréal, being very close to Ottawa, is a favourite spur-of-the-moment destination for our city’s denizens. One particular anecdote always comes to mind whenever I think of making a weekend trip to Montréal. A friend (who shall remain nameless) told us this story, possibly the night Princess Diana died.
We were at an early Food Not Bombs punk concert in Vincent Massey Park, and my friend had an old knapsack with him. I don’t recall how the subject came up, exactly, but he started to tell us about his first trip to Montréal:
One night, he went to a party. The party was a success, and he woke up on the couch surrounded by stale cigar smoke, sleeping partygoers, and pizza boxes, craving food.
Craving, specifically, a Montréal smoked meat sandwich.
Despite having never been to Montréal, he went straight to the Greyhound station and bought a ticket for the first bus there, with only the knapsack over his shoulder.
As he was sitting on the rather empty bus, a very beautiful girl sat down next to him and, before long, took out a bag of pot and started rolling a joint. She went back to the bathroom to smoke it, and when she came back she indicated he should follow suit. He did, and the rest of the trip passed uneventfully. They parted ways upon arriving in Montréal.
He looked up a friend whose apartment he could stay in, and they spent the next few weeks making a solid block of Ecstasy.
No, really, that’s what they did.
It measured about six inches by six inches by a foot.
Upon completion, they realized that they didn’t know anyone in Montréal to whom they could sell such a large quantity of illicit drugs. So they put the block into my friend’s knapsack, and would do the circuit of the bars and clubs downtown, offering licks of the block for ten dollars.
After the block was done, he came home to Ottawa.
Besides the obvious business lesson, this story reminds me that sometimes the most interesting segments of your life start with one random act. Hence, this weekend’s trip to Montréal.
Of course, it’s extremely unlikely that I’ll be starting a clandestine drug lab in someone’s basement. I have to get back to work on Monday morning, after all.