June 3–7, 2003 — Please come out

Picking up right where I left off: Our answering machine still asks that callers leave a message for Amy, Jeff and Mike; also, the work party was everything I expected it to be.

Because the party was deep in the heart of Etobicoke, I didn’t know how to get to it using public transportation. I had considered using this as an excuse not to go, but too many people offered to drive me if I met them at IKEA, and the the excuse didn’t hold.

I took my normal route to IKEA, picking up a cutting board and some plates while I was there. I also gave an essay I wrote about why I quit my job to the human resources department — I don’t expect anything to come of it, but I felt better after writing it. I found the person driving me in the kitchens department and arranged to meet her after she finished her shift.

We were late to arrive at the bar, but this was okay. One of the three doormen took ID from us and swiped our cards through a reader. I saw a response of “ERROR” when he swiped mine, so I think the machine might only have been for show. Anything to scare off the underage, I guess.

Inside, several tables had been pushed together; there was a line of IKEA employees and no empty seats. This suited me just fine, and I hid in a corner of a booth. I was given a flower — everyone who was leaving got one — but I had no idea what to do with it. I set it on the table in front of me, feeling awkward every time I caught sight of it in my peripheral vision. Some of my co-workers had brought their husbands, and I began a discussion with one of the husbands about whether we were in the sort of bar where conditions were ripe to pick a fight. The consensus was that we were. Then I asked if anyone thought there was a chance I might find someone smaller than me to pick a fight with. I was persistent through the laughter: “But if he’s drunk enough, I might have a chance?”

Not long after arriving, I started making the rounds and saying goodbye. I hugged more people in fifteen minutes than I would in a normal year; I put on my strongest face and hugged back with my right arm while cringing away with the rest of my body.

I took the subway home.

I made it my goal not to accomplish anything for a week or two. I wanted to settle into my freedom before starting work on web sites and trying to make rent.

The first weekend was easy. Cuff The Duke were playing four shows, and I decided to go to two of them. It was my first chance to hear Matt, Cuff The Duke’s new drummer. He had been staying with Jeff and me, and I wanted him to fit in well with the band because he comes off as a good person.

The shows went smoothly, the second a bit better than the first. The second was broadcast live on CBC radio, and the Hidden Cameras played, too. I wanted to watch both bands, so I tried to avoid being sucked into selling t-shirts and mostly succeeded. (Though I somehow ended up selling Hidden Cameras CDs towards the end; I got a free pin for my work and was happy with the arrangement.)

After doing nothing for two weeks, I could feel my deadlines creeping closer, but Trisha was leaving for the summer, so I allowed myself one more chance to be social before locking myself in my room for a week or two. Nathan was going, too, and this was the first chance I’d had to see him since I’d returned to Toronto.

I met Nathan at a CD store before meeting everyone else at a bar. I am not good at bars, and I find it less funny each time I tell a waiter that I’m spectating. One of Trisha’s friends from high school was there, and she kept referring to Trisha as Patricia. It took me awhile to catch on; I’d never connected the two names.

I don’t think Trisha’s friends thought much of me.

Eventually, we left the bar. I walked Nathan and Trisha to the subway before going home. Trisha hugged me goodbye. For a long time I worried that Trisha was only friends with me in an ironic sort of way, that I was (at best) someone who could act as a substitute when she couldn’t find a person she’d prefer to go to a show with. This hug felt a lot more sincere than the ones from my IKEA party, though.

For whatever that’s worth.