Sunday, 21 February 2010
Deli - Scalped - The Throng
It is nice to be flexible. I headed back to the curling venue from the coffee shop, a might peckish, and stopped in a couple of grocery stores looking for some grab and run food. I picked up a couple of samosas to eat and run, and pried them apart to start to gobble, and yetch. Mouldy. They gave me my money back and I walked to the corner of 28th planning to get a smokey at the game. I turned the corner, and there was a lovely little Bakery/Deli sign. I got a terrific pastrami bagel with sprouts served with crunchy chips and a pickle to go. It was fantastic and I was shoving it into my gullet, hoping to have it done by the time I got to the spectators gate. I was just finishing the sandwich and crossing the street to start the long block to the gate when a tall dark fella in the shade called me over.
"Hey! Wanna sell your ticket?"
I said, "Sure!" The thought of being back to my bed early for a full night's sleep, and maybe catching the second half of the game on TV was an appealing one.
"No," said I. "Fifty bux."
"Awe, cummon," he said. "I gotta make a living. There are lots of people out there. I might not be able to sell it anyway. I'll give you forty." He must've been new at his job. He must've forgotten that he was the one who had approached me.
"Okay," he said and he fumbled with the money and a fifty fell onto the wet muddy splotchy Vancouver grass. I covered the bill with my foot.
"I've got it," I said. I handed him my folded ticket, picked up the bill and walked away. My mind wandered back to Wednesday when I'd stopped at an IGA on Main and 14th to buy some granola bars (2 boxes for $4). I paid for them with a fifty and the cashier asked me to wait while she went to the customer service desk to verify my bill. I probably just sold my curling ticket for a couterfeit fifty. Oh well, a guy has to make a living. I'll find out eventuallty.