A Chance Encounter

The weather is getting colder, the days are getting shorter, fall is almost over. All things that I take to mean that winter is on it's way.

It was under such cold weather conditions that I found myself walking home one night, and much desiring the refuge of a place to warm up for a spell.

Unfortunately, there was naught but a Shell station nearby. For those of you not in the know, Shell is one of those big, money grubbing oil companies that were recently called before a congression hearing and generally represent the worst that humanity has to offer.

However, with my core temperature dropping, for better or for worse, I felt I had no choice but to stop in that abhorent place, at least long enough to fix myself a hot beverage. It is my usual custom to ignore people around me in such circumstances and just go about my business. On this particular occasion, though, I was given no such opportunity.

Ordinarily, the fellow making his own coffee next to me would not have been the least bit noteworthy. Somewhat disheveled, rapidly aproaching 50, such sights are in no way unsual in downtown Kelowna. But when his Rodney Dangerfield-esque voice rang out in my direction, I was forced to concede he could no longer be ignored.

"Guess what, kids. It's cold out."

I merely nodded in agreement. This, actually, sort of illustrates the reason I have such a disdain for small talk. Of course itwas cold out, no fool could dispute this fact. So why would anyone make such a banal statement, forthe purposes ofhearing a response, when they know what the response will be: when they know full well there is only one possible response? But, I digress. Besides, as I was soon to discover, logic was not always the governing force over the course of conversations. Keep in mind, as you read, these are all the words spoken to me, I'm not leaving out anything he said to me, nor changing the order they were spoken in.

"Speak of the Bible, eh?"

See what I mean? I wasn't sure that we actually had spoken on that subject, so I omly made a noncommittal noise like "mmm."

"The natives are on the prowl tonight. The toughest guy in Alberta got his head kicked in."

I inferred that the natives must have been the ones to perpetrate this violence. I guesthat'll teach the toughest guy in Alberta for coming to BC, though.

"You learn your lesson from the cold weather, right?"

In light all the supporting evidence, it was hard to disagree.

"I go by my prayers. I don't work; I'm business like."

The way he made these statements, in rapid succession, leadme to believe they we're all connected somehow. I failed to see how. So I said nothing.

"Which is the best magazine for underwear, eh? I guess they'reall pretty good."

What?

"The Playboys are getting me crazy."

In most unconfortable situations, an intuitive understanding will kick in sooner or later to let you know when it is time to escape. In that moment, I was having that understanding. Bidding the man a good night, I prepared to depart.

"Good to see you, eh?"

Considering my boyish good looks, this was the first thing he said that made sense. But it was too little, too late. The thing with guys like this is that you always run into them again, sooner rather than later. But forewarned is forearmed, and I hope to be better prepared next time.