Saturday, May 30, 2009
West meets East Moey style......
What a morning I had today, I had to drive Mr. Moey to the dreaded EAST END of Montreal to pick up his bat mobile, boys and their toys, it’s a guy thing. It’s actually a 1979 Trans Am that he stores for the winter in a little old Italian lady’s garage in the EAST END. I firmly believe that Mr. Moey suffers from separation anxiety; he refuses to get rid of anything no matter how old it gets. (Hmm, I guess that applies to me too, maybe it’s not a bad thing). You’re probably asking yourself what’s the big deal about driving to the EAST END? Well consider this, no self respecting WIP (West Island princess) wants to be anywhere within a 20 mile radius of the EAST END. I saved Mr. Moey from the EAST END several years ago, move West young man I said, come towards the light. He is forever in my debt.
Off we went, I was driving and he was back seat driving (it’s another guy thing) so getting there was easy. Now comes the hard part and the anxiety is starting to set in. I have to navigate my way back on my own. So he says just go to the end of the street, hang a right and it takes you back to the Metropolitan Highway. No worries, I start driving down the street and I guess I turned left. Okay so now I’m on Pie IX Blvd, not the end of the world, this should lead me right back to the highway, well it would have if I’d been going in the right direction. I keep driving and WTF do I pass but the Olympic Stadium. Here we go again, I have to try and turn around but there are no left turns for the next 200 stoplights. I take a right turn, go up a few one way streets and try to double back to Pie IX. Now I’m totally disorientated, I don’t know my North from my South, my East from my West. Now I know how Alex Kovalev feels when he’s asked to play a North/South game, it just can’t be done. Now I’m starting to get hives, an Anglo being lost in the EAST END is the equivalent of being a white person lost in Harlem. It’s hostile territory and if worse comes to worse I’ll have to pretend to be an American tourist and ask directions. I decide to take one more side street and by the grace of God somehow I end up on a service road where I spot a sign with an arrow saying (40 Ouest). The panic starts to subside, what a relief.
I make my way back to my little West Island bubble, park in the driveway and kiss the ground. Home, safe and sound until the next time. That bat mobile has to go, if you’re interested let me know, Quebec has the highest rate of car thefts in Canada, what’s one more?