Y'know, I never did tell you about the Bixis in Montreal.
First thing's first:
I look incredible today.
My hair is at all of the right angles, I guess.
It's the lighting.
Noon-time's lighting always presents me well.
No wait.
That's first thing's last.
First thing's first:
A Bixi, for those of you who don't know (God knows I didn't) is a bike.
Readily available at various Bixi stations.
Which occur in Montreal as frequently as pockets of homeless people do.
So they're relatively common.
They provide incredibly frugal, clean, public transit for anyone with two legs.
And a valid credit card.
That's the important part.
So, we're in Montreal, and the Homegrown Competition is over at this point.
Which means that the participants are now finally speaking to one another.
Fellow loser Jane Stanton, despised runner-up Nathan MacIntosh, and myself decide to go for a bike ride.
On the Bixis.
Jane Stanton is a legitimate redhead with a penchant for capris.
She's a celiac, which is a medical condition that only allows you to eat one type of bagel.
They don't toast!
I've seen them put into toasters.
They come back out and they're untoasted.
What does that say about a grain? Fire doesn't affect it.
I wouldn't eat it.
Anyway.
So every time we eat a meal in a restaurant (which is three times a day), Jane has to explain to the uninterested wait staff:
"I'll have a BLT. But I can't have it on normal bread.
I have some bagels here. Could you use one of these?"
Blank stare.
"Cause I'm celiac.
...
I can't eat gluten."
Blank stare, followed by, "Uh, alright."
That's Jane.
I've now told you everything interesting about her.
Nathan Macintosh is a magnificent human being.
Who appreciates brightly-coloured footwear as much as I do.
Nathan looks like the offspring of a beautiful woman and the male equivalent of a troll doll.
In his act he mentions that he looks like Fry from Futurama.
What he neglects to mention is that he also kinda sounds like him...
He's always grinning.
If he died tragically, I'm positive that his funeral would be overrun with hot girls.
That's Nathan.
Bike ride.
We step over some homeless people on the way to the nearest Bixi station.
Renting a bicycle costs five bucks.
I know that my VISA limit is near.
But I also know that even I have that much to spare.
Go to get a bike.
Won't let me do it, and won't explain why.
I try a couple of times and nothing happens.
Jane tries her credit card.
Won't let her do it.
I tell them my credit might be close to being maxed.
Jane explains that she's wanted for fraud in her native B.C..
Hers may not work because of that.
Nathan uses his credit card.
Purchases a ticket for two (an available option) codes.
Unlocks the bikes.
Tries to buy another ticket for one code (the other option).
To unlock another bike.
My bike.
Won't let him do it.
Tries several times.
Nothin'.
We pow-wow what to do next.
Nathan is casually circling around on his bike.
Jane has another credit card back at her apartment.
Which is where all three of us are living at this point.
Why don't I take one of the rented bixis back there?
Get the card.
Come back.
I realize that I don't have time to go over my personal history.
Explain to them why my riding a bike in Montreal on a Saturday afternoon-
During tourist season-
Might not be the best idea.
Squeamish, I simply agree.
You know what they say about riding a bike:
It's just like riding a bike...
Rickety, I'm riding with the traffic.
Cars are whizzing by me at Québécois speeds.
Some one-and-a-half feet away.
Honking their horns.
I try to act cool in front of the receptionist while I wheel this thing into the lobby.
Because I've been trying to act cool in front of her for over a week now.
Gotta keep up the ruse.
"Mind watching my bike?"
Run up. Credit card. Ride back.
Try her card.
Won't let us do it.
Decide to go to another Bixi station.
We ride/walk to the next one.
Try all of the bullshit again.
No go.
Call the 800 number.
Nathan's talking to someone.
It's at this point that Jane and I decide to read the instructions.
First important thing we notice:
$250 deposit is required along with the five dollar fee.
We now know why my card didn't work; I'm a bum.
(I kinda knew all along.)
I already mentioned Stanton's fraud charges.
Nathan's in the background, "Why do you need my credit card number?
...
Because I'd rather not give it to you."
Next important piece of information:
Limit of two bikes per credit card.
Nathan's reading off digits and expiry dates.
My favourite part of the 800 call?
Before Nathan reads his credit card info, he says:
"Alright Montreal, I hope you're listening: four, five, one, zero..."
We get him off of the phone and stand around.
We've been an hour at this so far.
Probably. I can't remember, really.
Ultimately I say, "Well you've gotta go.
What else are we going to do, take turns?
Have me run beside you guys?
It's fine. You go without me."
They ask, "Are you sure?"
"It's fine," laughing I say, "I'll just go jerk off in Jane's room.
Have a wonderful bike ride."
Which they did.
And I never got to tell them I loved them.
There.
That's the story.
Let's never talk about it again.
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