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So this is how I got my name.
In the winter it was both too cold and too dark to walk to work; the former is important because I am a puss about the cold, and the latter is important because I was once stopped by a police officer who thought I was a prostitute because who else would be walking down main street at four-thirty in the morning? (GENTLEMEN, MY STAGE NAME IS "THE BAKETRESS!") So when the snow started to fall, I took cabs a lot.
I was friendly with all the drivers, but P in particular. P was an East-Indian man who had travelled all over the world and worked all throughout the United States and Canada before apparently deciding to settle down in my podunk little town. He said he became a cab driver because he got all the hours he could handle, and he liked people. He was working to bring his wife and daughter over from Pakistan.
He never charged me when I had him stop at Tim Horton's to run in to buy coffee for everyone on my way to work. Not even when the line was long.
He always asked after my family and friends, people he'd never met.
His favourite movie was "The Life Aquatic".
One day during the summer, he shows up at the bakery. He finally was able to bring his wife and daughter over, and wanted them to meet me. ("My husband says you're the girl who makes all the sound effects while he drives his cab." Why yes, I am that lame, thank you!) His wife is the sort of breathtakingly beautiful, humble, sweet woman who only ever seems to come out of the middle east; his daughter is a plump little cherub, brown curls peeking out from under her cap. She holds onto her mother's jean-clad leg and peers out from around it at me.
A boy runs up to the counter and asks for one of the free cookies we give out. I offer one to the little girl, who tucks her face back behind her mother's leg. I rattle the box; M&M cookies knock tantalisingly against the plastic. "You'd better get one before the dinosaur gets them all."
She peeks back out at me. She's suspicious.
I waggle my eyebrows. "That's right. There's a special dinosaur that only eats cookies, and we have the best cookies in town, so it's always waiting around here. If you don't take one now, they'll be all eaten up!"
She giggles a little and takes a cookie. She looks at me expectantly.
I throw my arms into the air and scream. "OH NO, THE COOKIESAUR IS HERE, HIDE YOUR BABIES AND YOUR COOKIES! RAWR RAWR RAWR!"
She shrieks with delight and runs off into the aisles laughing uncontrollably while I stomp after her roaring about DELICIOUS COOKIES ON NOM NOM and her parents fellow behind in bemusement.
P and his family came in every week like clockwork to do their shopping. They only ever came by when I was working, and each time N, his little girl, would ask to play with the Cookiesaur. When I told them I was moving to the states, they had me over for dinner and gave me an early wedding present -- a potpourri pot I refuse to let anyone else touch. We still send cards. I sent N a 3 pound Florida alligator made out of chocolate, further cementing my status as a poor candidate for parenthood. They are maybe some of the best people I ever had the good luck to meet.
The Boss assured me, when I called him today, that if I wanted, he would be happy to mention the Cookiesaur in the reference letter he was writing for me.
I asked how he planned on doing that after I broke all his fingers and broke all his pens.
I can't have people thinking I'm anything less than a bad-ass, you know.
In the winter it was both too cold and too dark to walk to work; the former is important because I am a puss about the cold, and the latter is important because I was once stopped by a police officer who thought I was a prostitute because who else would be walking down main street at four-thirty in the morning? (GENTLEMEN, MY STAGE NAME IS "THE BAKETRESS!") So when the snow started to fall, I took cabs a lot.
I was friendly with all the drivers, but P in particular. P was an East-Indian man who had travelled all over the world and worked all throughout the United States and Canada before apparently deciding to settle down in my podunk little town. He said he became a cab driver because he got all the hours he could handle, and he liked people. He was working to bring his wife and daughter over from Pakistan.
He never charged me when I had him stop at Tim Horton's to run in to buy coffee for everyone on my way to work. Not even when the line was long.
He always asked after my family and friends, people he'd never met.
His favourite movie was "The Life Aquatic".
One day during the summer, he shows up at the bakery. He finally was able to bring his wife and daughter over, and wanted them to meet me. ("My husband says you're the girl who makes all the sound effects while he drives his cab." Why yes, I am that lame, thank you!) His wife is the sort of breathtakingly beautiful, humble, sweet woman who only ever seems to come out of the middle east; his daughter is a plump little cherub, brown curls peeking out from under her cap. She holds onto her mother's jean-clad leg and peers out from around it at me.
A boy runs up to the counter and asks for one of the free cookies we give out. I offer one to the little girl, who tucks her face back behind her mother's leg. I rattle the box; M&M cookies knock tantalisingly against the plastic. "You'd better get one before the dinosaur gets them all."
She peeks back out at me. She's suspicious.
I waggle my eyebrows. "That's right. There's a special dinosaur that only eats cookies, and we have the best cookies in town, so it's always waiting around here. If you don't take one now, they'll be all eaten up!"
She giggles a little and takes a cookie. She looks at me expectantly.
I throw my arms into the air and scream. "OH NO, THE COOKIESAUR IS HERE, HIDE YOUR BABIES AND YOUR COOKIES! RAWR RAWR RAWR!"
She shrieks with delight and runs off into the aisles laughing uncontrollably while I stomp after her roaring about DELICIOUS COOKIES ON NOM NOM and her parents fellow behind in bemusement.
P and his family came in every week like clockwork to do their shopping. They only ever came by when I was working, and each time N, his little girl, would ask to play with the Cookiesaur. When I told them I was moving to the states, they had me over for dinner and gave me an early wedding present -- a potpourri pot I refuse to let anyone else touch. We still send cards. I sent N a 3 pound Florida alligator made out of chocolate, further cementing my status as a poor candidate for parenthood. They are maybe some of the best people I ever had the good luck to meet.
The Boss assured me, when I called him today, that if I wanted, he would be happy to mention the Cookiesaur in the reference letter he was writing for me.
I asked how he planned on doing that after I broke all his fingers and broke all his pens.
I can't have people thinking I'm anything less than a bad-ass, you know.
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