From Tabusintac to Tokyo | Page 5

you

know, up there. Not that they were bad people, you understand; they
just didn't get born the right way and were unlikely to see the error of
their ways.
If you weren't Catholic, you went to the Public School and we didn't
understand a thing about those aliens. It was only after I got out of
elementary school that I realized the Public School kids were as human
as me.
When I got out of high school and went to university, I tried to put my
past behind me. Some people fall away from the Church, I
standing-broad-jumped-away from Catholicism. I spoke English all the
time and put my French heritage into a locked box.
But my past does come to haunt me. I find myself breaking into French
patois from time to time, befuddling my friends. Sometimes I eat
tortiere.
I frequently worry what's going to happen to my soul when I die…am I
going to make it to Heaven or will I get stuck in Purgatory and spend a
few millennia working off my sins. I obsess about getting my virginity
back.
My history has cast a pall over my whole life: I've gotten professional,
high paying jobs, earned the respect of my colleagues and friends,
travelled to other countries, drunk fine wines and gambled hardly at all.
I've even experimented with marijuana (but never inhaled).
Nothing seems to ease the pain of my birth and upbringing. Will no one
have mercy on my tortured spirit?

A Shad in the Bed
Is not necessarily worth two of anything, anywhere else. But it can
certainly be a heck of a lot of fun.
During my days as an inmate in Bridges House at the University of

New Brunswick, I shared this space with about 99 other
testosterone-addled "young adults" whose charming tendency to get
completely out of hand was barely held in check by the rod of authority
of the Don and Resident Fellow. This is not to say that these two
worthies weren't good at their jobs; more accurately, their task was
more akin to herding cats…fairly obtuse, barely socialized cats.
Given the state of controlled chaos that existed, it wasn't unusual for
little conflicts to arise from time to time. Being rather physically small
and odd, I came in for a certain amount of abuse from someone called
Scut, a large and obnoxious Newfie (hmmm, that's like saying that
water is wet). I can't remember what it was he did to me, but it was
serious enough that I decided to get my own back.
It's been said that revenge is a dish best enjoyed cold. I think revenge is
a dish best enjoyed in secret with no chance of counter-revenge to spoil
the occasion. And so it was that I laid my plans against Scut.
The occasion and place were set. My means of entry was secured. Now
I needed material. For me, the only good fish is a live one. Even though
I hale from NB, I really don't like free-swimming seafood. Considering
the unimaginative cuisine of my youth, it's surprising that I eat anything
at all.
So with dead, smelly fish in mind, I persuaded my friend Shan to pick
one up when he was down at the Saturday Farmer's Market. He
returned with a four-pound shad, frozen solid. Shad has even more
bones than other fish and you'll never see it featured on any cooking
show (except maybe Iron Chef, where the disgusting and unusual
seems to be standard). It took me all day to thaw out the fish in the
lounge sink…an activity which elicited howls of complaint from the
guys trying to watch TV.
That evening was our "Social". Socials were an occasion for us to
invite people from other residences, preferably the women's residences.
Thereupon, various debaucheries would take place, mostly related to
drinking, dancing and falling over; sometimes on top of someone of
another sex, more frequently into a snow bank.

It continues to amaze me that we drank as much as we did with
impunity. We had our own bar in the Lower Lounge. We didn't even
need to smuggle in booze, we just went to the liquor store, frequently in
Locutus' car and bought our stock. A few years ago, I visited Bridges
House again (it's a bisexual residence, now), and was astounded and
heartbroken to discover that our bar had been turned into a computer
room. Oh, the days of my youth are forever gone!
While the social was in full swing, I crept into Scut's room, pulled the
covers back and gently laid the now fully defrosted shad in his bed. I
was reasonably certain that Scut would get completely stocious at some
point in the evening, stagger back and, with any luck, go to sleep