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?"

Well, that hadn't been my intention.  I certainly didn't want the ticket to go to waste.  I had tried to give it away but couldn't hook up with the person, and thought I'd take in a draw, from the other side of the fence, for pleasure.  Now all that had changed.

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.

"Here," he said.  "Here's twenny bux."  And he practically threw the money my way.  I had to think fast.  I had paid $67.50 for the ticket but that was well back in 2009 and it really didn't matter that much to me any more.

"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.

"Naw," I said.  "I'll just go and watch the game."  And I started to walk away.  He had a fist full of bills, among them some nice crisp orange ones.

"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.

I walked to the Canada Line, munching my chips and pickle.  Riders were heading to the the Czech Republich Belarus Hockey Game and from the Netherland's Heineken House in Richmond.  I got off at Vancouver Central in the middle of the meilee at Granville Street and West Georgia.  There was a 5-piece acoustic busking band singing Bad Bad Leroy Brown and the crowd was singing along.  There was art all around me.  The folks were happy.  The air was seaside mountain fresh and I walked up a block, past the art gallery and across the street, moving with the crowds until I edged my way to The Bay to hop my bus back to West Van.  I never tire of that night drive over the Lions Gate.  I made it back to watch the last four ends of the Murdoch Martin Match-up.

As I said earlier... the Scots are crumbling, or did I say cracking.  Do you think they will qualify?  I will go out on a limb and say they will.  No they won't.  Oh, you just can't count those wiley rock huckers out.

Enjoy the pictures.  Some of them are high rez so if you click on them you can zoom in on the detail.  It truly was a lovely night.