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Monday, June 20, 2005
Here in Ottawa, we each get two clean bath towels, two hand towels, and two face cloths every single day. I definitely don't live like this when I'm on my own, so I never know what to do with the other towels. I guess I could take two showers and use different towels each time. I don't usually take two showers, though, and having another clean towel never strikes me as an immediate reason for jumping back in. I don't know, maybe really big people need two bath towels after a shower. Never thought about it too much. I guess the logic stands on the principle that since big people need more fabric in their clothes to cover their bodies, they also need more towels to dry themselves. Which really makes you wonder whether big people get more wet in a shower than small people, whether a small person who stays in the shower longer could possibly be wetter than a big person, and, if so, how does anyone get more wet than wet and what exactly is the measure of that wetness?I just don't get why we have an extra towel. I met someone from London, England, this week who told me that they also have the sandwich shop chain Subway there. I found this odd because, if any country's transit system could compete with New York in terms of culture and fame, it's London. You'd think the English would have too much pride to allow Subway, wallpapered to the teeth with city patriotism, to thrive. I guess Subway's marketing savvy with Jarrod is strong enough to stretch itself overseas, making it clear that there are people in London who are every bit as gullibly fat as us. We all know that the one thing you don't get at Subway is their salads. You pay five dollars for a 'salad' that is essentially what they'd be putting on your sandwich anyway. You just feel ripped off, an emptiness. If you're a carnivorous anti-Atkinian like me, the whole time you're thinking how you'd rather enjoy the limpy green, unsatisfying concoction in a sandwich like it was originally intended. Anyway, I've been eating a lot of poutine lately. I'm not sure if it's because there is no such thing in the States or if my friends' enthusiasm for it is just that compelling. There's something that fries smothered in gravy and melting cheese curds say, though it definitely isn't: "Canada's Guide to Healthy Eating." So the other day, after rehearsal, we went to the food court in downtown Ottawa's Rideau Centre. It's important to note that, when coupling the words 'downtown' and 'Ottawa', one mustn't take the association too seriously -- there is almost nothing downtown about Ottawa. Anyway, Alex, our American violinist who sojourned and tasted Montreal's life-shortening fare for two years, wanted poutine. We decided to eat at New York Fries, which, interestingly enough, doesn't exist in New York. Immediately after ordering the poutine, I felt guilty. My Polish friend, Artur, felt guilty as well, but that was more because he's a vegetarian and didn't realize that ordering 'poutine' meant that he was basically going to be eating fries, cheese curds, and drinkable cow. (I've never seen someone struggle so hard to not enjoy a poutine.) I walked past Subway on my way back from New York Fries to our table, shaking my head at the last five years of my life I'd be missing if I ate what was on my tray. I lingered at Subway and blurted out, "How much is a salad?" I put so much pressure on salads to save my life, it's not funny. The two guys behind the counter smiled down at my poutine while they threw a bunch of shredded lettuce on a plastic plate. I couldn't believe I was actually ordering a salad at Subway and for a moment, I had a moral debate about whether or not what I was doing was right. They asked me what I wanted on my "salad" and I told them cucumbers, green peppers, tomatoes -- and three pounds of meat on Italian bread. I no longer wanted the salad and I became incensed with how horrible this decision would be if I got one at Subway. "You can't change your order, man," said the very professional Subway 'sandwich expert' (their term, not mine). "We've already started making the salad." I couldn't believe it. Maybe they were joking. So I laughed and said, "I don't know about you, but I'm thinking you could just take that 'salad' off the plate and put it on a bun. I'll take the turkey special." The two of them looked at each other like I was asking them to do something illegal. The tall, lanky one started, stammering, "But this is a salad..." Is it because I'm in Ottawa or is it just me? The mean side of me wanted to tell them that what they had on the plate didn't have to be a salad interminably, and that, with all due respect, they were 'sandwich experts', not 'salad experts', so maybe we all needed to just stick to what we knew -- and what I knew was that I no longer wanted a salad. But compromise is the way you keep friends and, more importantly, saliva from dribbling down your food, so I said, "Though I don't really see the problem here, I'll pay for the sullied plate, too." (I cringe to admit that I really did use the word 'sullied', demonstrating to you that I'm not only a geeky loser on the web, but also in real life.) Anyway, I ended up walking away with a six-inch sub, a salad, and a poutine, which, ultimately, means I ordered way more food than I had originally intended to eat, and also that, if this kept up, I was on my way to becoming really, really fat. Which, I guess with some consideration and time, might justify having that extra towel. 
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