Almost getting Vancouver boy deported
We were such naughty kids
This ENTP almost landed me in the police station.
Oh wait, that was my fault.
Let me backtrack.
The original plan after sushi dinner was to visit the Japanese convenience store, because cute snacks are the best. However, en route to the destination, I looked up at the Fairmont Hotel, and pointed out how I always wanted to go on the rooftop, to which he replied, “wanna go?”
No hesitation whatsoever.
I’m the type that can’t refuse a co-conspirator, so we skipped over to enact the plot. We cleared the revolving doors with ease, and found ourselves in a grand lobby, resplendent with twinkling chandeliers. Since you can’t look lost while trying to blend in, we picked a random direction (left), and started moving with confidence. Lugging along backpacks like kids, we looked neither boomer-coded, nor in the right income bracket for this type of establishment, and we could feel the asian receptionist’s eyes follow us as we moved, trying to exude a natural sense of belonging.
Our heart rates quickened with each second we couldn’t find the elevator, and then voila it appeared! But to our dismay, you needed a keycard. Undaunted by the failed attempt, we continued the hunt. For such a large building, there should’ve been one, if not two emergency stair-cases. We found one of them, but it didn’t lead up, only down, so we had no choice but to follow the turns and twists of fate. Quite fitting considering Mike had a tattoo of “amor fati” on his arm.
This rabbit hole landed us in Housekeeping, which was deserted except for the carts full of mixed linen around each corner. We ambled through the labyrinth with no sense of direction, our eyes and ears peeled for any sign of A. stairs, and B. people. Each time a distant door opened or closed, we would turn into stone, count to 20, and then move stealthily like rats. This is essentially breaking and entering, and I’m sure it would land us in the police station, or at least incur a lifetime ban from Fairmont.
Somewhere in the middle of exploring, we almost got caught.
The service elevator dinged open, and a couple of tall burly men in neat little cravats came in pushing a trolley. Before we could slither away discreetly, one of them asked what are we doing here. I can’t lie for shit, so I let the extrovert handle it, and boy was he convincing.
“We’re looking for the elevator.” He said with a straight face. With a honest voice like that, how could you not trust the guy?
The worker believed him, and pointed us in the right direction. Phew, that was close! The hunt continues.
Unfortunately, the second elevator was also no-go, because key card. I debated just waiting until someone calls it up from the top, but we didn’t wanna keep sweltering in the heat so we left. Feeling a bit shaken from the near-hit, our plan switched to one of escape. No more rooftop, now we wanna gtfo before someone catches on from the CCTV that we’re up to no good. But that wasn’t easy either. Turns out leaving the place was a lot harder than we thought.
There was a whole floor of conference rooms. Complete with chairs, pens (we took 2) and jam (3 types). Mike was hoping for a bottle of wine left unattended, while I was eager to find a working hot water tank, because the asian in me hasn’t had tea for at least an hour. We found neither, and instead took pictures on the podium of a networking event scheduled for May 14. As the de-facto event decorator at work, I was appalled at the bare-bones approach here, but I suppose if you have budget to book the Fairmont, there’s probably nothing left over for balloons and streamers.
It was fun to check out the rooms, but we circled back where we started from, and it started to dawn on us that we may never get out of this place on our own. What a frightening thought.
Calling for help wasn’t an option either because we had no way of contacting the reception.
Just as the last of our resolve trickled away, stairwell #12 rose into our field of vision, that holy grail of saviours. The sign indicated it would lead to the lobby. Ok good, that’s what we want. But once inside, I could see that unlike the previous stairs that gaslit us into thinking it goes up, this one actually did ascend! Following the direction of my gaze, Mike asked if I wanna try going to the roof again, and dammit, he just feeds my bad ideas every time. His contextual awareness was 10/10, so I was delighted that he could read my mind. Our mission reverted back to the original one: ROOFTOP.
We made our way up to the 10th floor, with a brief rest at floor 8 because my legs were tired.
Honestly, having started my cycle that day, my energy levels were very weak so it wasn’t a great time to be doing any strenuous exercise, but the mind wants what it wants.
Down a long corridor was a large vertical window, the last barrier between us and freedom. But it wasn’t meant to be, because the lock prevented us from sliding it open any further.
As I nudged my nose on the pane of glass, I whispered, “so this is how it feels to be in the gulags…” He was smirking laughing. I could never tell when he smiles if it’s because I’m genuinely funny or he’s happy to play the fool so I can maintain my self-illusion. Either way, the man was a joy to be around.
Upon reaching the climax of our incredible heist, we turned back after a mission well-done, satisfied that we pushed the boundaries as far as we could without getting this American boy deported on his first trip to Canada.
The first breath of street air was invigorating. We collectively breathed a sigh of relief that we skipped possible ordeals with security guards and their scarier counterparts. After all, law and order was merely bent, and not breached.
At the convenience store, I got some rice crackers, yuzu matcha, and a horde of Japanese tic tacs in peach, grape and lime. Mike had the sad luck of selecting a yucky tasting cherry soda, which he dutifully finished anyways. It really proves his assertion that he’s like a dog/trash-can and basically eats everything, including spicy foods. His gastronomic habit is quite consistent with his personality as a whole in its diffusive schizophrenia.
Despite being short, he had enough fire to fight two men, and I felt completely at ease with him beside me, walking through the crowd.
“If you didn’t show up, I would’ve gotten smashed tonight.”
Tbh, there was a part of me that considered cancelling because in the morning upon waking up, my body felt terrible—girl problems. Fortunately, resting all-day did wonders to restore some of my vitality.
After the snack stop, we strolled leisurely across Robson st, the busy pedestrian strip, and turned onto Denman, otherwise known as the road to English Bay, the city’s best location for watching fireworks in the summer. While there were no bright lights that evening, we did catch the last blink of sunset, a single brushstroke of orange against a backdrop of tanker ships and windy waves.
I motioned to the washroom, and reassured him, for the 3rd time, that I’ll be back. And then I remembered what happened at dinner…
Sitting in a corner at the bottom level of the restaurant, I waited patiently for Mike to arrive. A couple minutes in, I saw a wildling in a patterned shirt and a mop of curly hair walk within 3 ft of me, then turn around and leave. I was so sure that’s his side profile, given that I had seen him before on live.
Was it possible that he saw my face and decided I’m too ugly? My confidence may never recover. Oh no.
When he finally showed up, I told him this joke and he was delighted. For a guy who self-proclaimed to be the “Sun”, he certainly lived up to my expectations, and kept radiating warmth in all directions for the rest of the night. His auric field had no gaps, but its very existence, the maintenance of such intensity, must burn quite a bit of energy.
With fiery hazel eyes, he had the look of a man searching for something, urgently. I couldn’t look at him directly for too long because it felt like he would eat me alive. Extroverts are always at 100, it’s just how they are.
When he’s deep in thought, the lines between his brows form the shape of an equilateral triangle. I found that detail interesting because even in muscle tension, he exerts equal force in all directions. His true nature is quite non-discriminatory, but his mind works like a threshing machine, constantly dissecting and magnifying every little thing. A classic over thinker, just with two competing operating systems.
At the stop light, I didn’t notice the red light until it was too late, and yanked him back just in time to stay alive. “I’m not supposed to get you killed this early”, to which he chuckled in mirth.
He was essentially my ex’s evil, more intelligent twin, since the two were born just one day apart. I’m not surprised given how similar the phenotype overlap was, but the personality differences were like night and day. My conclusion was that crazy manifests in different dimensions, and some are only visible after extended socialization. He was eager to elaborate on his style of degenerate behaviour, explaining how for writing his book, he would method voice-over in dark alleys and scare the homeless folks, lol.
One thing Mike refused to tell me was why he stood outside the restaurant waiting for 30min, instead of sitting inside at a table. I feel like it was a sensitive topic so I didn’t probe further, but behind the answer I’m sure lies a master key of some sort.
The human mind is like the body in that according to acupuncture logic, the locations that produces pain are the key to unlocking energy blockages. It’s always the things that hurt us that reveal the sadness we all carry, just in varying amounts. I think Mike is aware of this on a subconscious level, because he kept asking me negative questions such as “what’s the most hurtful insult you ever got, and what’s the worst date you’ve been on?”
He deduced from my dating horror stories that me going to the washroom was a sign that I’m done with the date, and it became an ongoing joke where every time I went to the ladies’ room, I would promise to return.
I found him sitting on a bench, facing the ocean, mesmerized by the sun meeting the water, lost in thought. He looked so peaceful.
We didn’t walk much further along the beach because the gale had picked up considerably and my body couldn’t take the wind anymore. So we retraced back towards the city centre, but first took a stop at Kingyo, the legendary omakase hot-spot my ex-boss always raved about.
The interior was quaint and cute, and Mike remarked the wood panelling looked hand-cut, always a nice touch in our industrial age. I agreed, while also hiding my surprise that he could be so detail-oriented, since he completely missed the changes in stair design back at the hotel.
It was here that we had the most intimate conversation of the entire evening.
In between bites of the most delectable prawn tempura I ever had in my life, I saw him turn off the glamour for seconds at a time, revealing bits of the human beneath the sunny exterior. He drank sake (again), while I had barley tea, silently kicking myself for being unable to drink on a day when such a suitable drinking friend was present.
Maybe I’ll go see him in Portland some time, and we can get really un-sober.
We talked about relationships, how we endured COVID, and our convo flowed for so long I barely noticed we’re the only ones left at closing time. Neither of us checked our phones, because as far as we’re concerned, time didn’t exist.
But it did, because it’s suddenly last call for food, and we couldn’t stay any longer.
Mike was a great conversationalist. I didn’t have to carry any awkward silences, and he just knew where to steer the topic to make the interaction more fun, because he doesn’t like being bored. What he was doing is kind of like what I do with people more socially disabled than me. As charming as I think I am, he was much more so.
Every now and then, he would effusively glaze me in a half-serious manner. If it had been anyone else, I might’ve gotten annoyed, but because he says things so matter of factly, it gave the words a comically British halo that’s irresistibly flattering. I can see why he’s popular with the ladies.
Considering he’s a lightweight and doesn’t weigh much, I asked if he’s drunk and he said “no, talking to you sobered me up, you’re very stimulating.” I was caught off-guard by the compliment because as far as I’m concerned, I’m the most boring person you could ever talk to. Although for someone like him, I’m probably a grounding, stabilizing influence.
The guy was a real chaos goblin, but he was also very generous, and tipped like a king. Some of that confidence is innate, but I think part of it is also having a stable, well-off family background to lean on. After all, whether you consciously realize it or not, your roots never go away, and having good ones gives you a strong base to bounce back from if things get ugly.
We trekked slowly back to his hostel, and after checking out the interior, he was such a gentleman and offered to wait with me until the bus came. We hugged briefly and waved goodbye. I had a really nice time hanging out with him, and we got along well :)
~Yueyue
p.s. Vancouver boy got me lots of chocolate from Trader Joe’s, what a cutie.
“You come across as complex in-person.”
But I’m just a simple girl.
Assuming you're not employing pseudonyms to protect the guilty, or changing names & places as a diversionary tactic here, this most interesting episode of 'Wanger's Progresse' finally cracks open the vault to reveal the 'Sun' character in all his radiant effusiveness. I must admit I was curious as to what lurked behind that 'Sun' moniker of his. Many clues fell into place, as your narrative continued. Thanks for sharing this exercise in therapeutic psycho-analysis, Wanger. Sounds as if you had a great time and a near-adventure-of-all-adventures! Most enjoyable as a read, too! I'd love to see you assigned to do an in-person interview (podcast) with Xi Jinping, LoL! Or perhaps with a Szechuan Ailuropoda melanoleuca (Giant Panda)! ;=))) Alohas, -K2
So well written. Tracking back midstream to the restaurant was excellent. The tic tac flavor listing was arguably the best thing. In tight competition with him calling himself the Sun.