Bloody long day

Saturday night... Sunday morning I don't care what you call it.

Sunday Nov 5. 12:30am. The posters are signed, and I’m done. With a final glance around the bar, I head straight for the front desk. “Money please.” I check my contract, count the bills and say the obligatory goodbyes. Tip toeing across the icy cover parking lot I drag my tired body back to the room. It’s still a mess. I went out for dinner instead of packing. I laugh at my own procrastination and survey the explosion of panties, props and posters. Everything came from somewhere, and like every week it must be stuffed carefully into my suitcases. I’d better get on it. I peel off my sweater and wander around in my bra. I have work to do, and a sweaty turtleneck is gross.

1:00am Ashley pops her head in my room and shakes her head at the obvious lack of packing I’ve done. We both have flights to catch out of Winnipeg and we need to figure out timing. There’s a bus leaving at 6:45am. I hate mornings. There’s also a 3am bus… Strippers and early mornings are not a good combination. I suspect our best hours of sleep are between 6am and noon. I guess we’re leaving at 3:00am. Joy!

1:30 am. I’m watching CSI Miami and sitting on my suitcase. With a bit of moral support and extra body weight it slowly zips closed. Suitcases are quickly being piled in the hall. My costumes are packed, as are Ashley’s. As I do a final check of the room I realize that I’ve packed my shirt. I have nothing to wear. Oops. I tug at the zipper, carefully opening a crack, peering in I spot a clean shirt and pull. Success! I have a sweater.

2:00am. After a bit of searching and a few phone calls from front desk, we find a willing employee to haul our 6 suitcases, Rubbermaid container, and random stuff to the lobby. Yay! The cab is called and we wait. The driver is useless. After staring at us for a few minutes and starting to drive away she reluctantly gets out of the van. With no assistance, and a few complaints we manage to load up. Finally.

2:45am. The road is slippery and the air is sharp. An obscene amount of luggage is piled around us, providing a chair and a hassle. The doors are locked and the depot is abandoned but for three enthusiastic drunks, and two very tired strippers.

4:30am. It’s dark, and it’s late. I’m exhausted and allow my body to drift in and out of sleep. Scrunched in the seat I toss and turn in futile attempts at comfort. My neck hurts and my back hurts, and I hate buses. Beside me I know Ashley shares my sentiments. Yawning, I stare out into the darkness for a moment. Everything is flat, and icy. Winter has come to the prairies, and I’m ready to move on.

5:30am. Winnipeg. I think I slept. I know I closed my eyes, but sleeping on a bus doesn’t count. We need a cab, actually we need 2 cabs and apparently the competent employees aren’t working at 5:30 in the morning on a Sunday. I’m annoyed, and too tired. The cabbies stare at us blankly until I give them very short instructions. “Ok look. We need two cabs. We have 8 bags. They won’t fit in one. You and you, drive around back.” My message appears to have made an impression and we’re on our way again.

6:00am. Home sweet home… or rather a pathetic imitation. I know this hotel all too well. For cheap weekly rates this is the local stripper hotel. Located downtown, and above a peeler bar it’s where most out of town dancers stay. We grab a dancer room and drag our sore bodies down the hall. Suitcases are dragged in and dropped. Clothes are stripped off and left in piles. “I claim the window bed.” I mumble as Ashley yawns in response. “Fine with me, I want the one closest to the door.” Comfortable chatter delays sleep for too long. Finally with the sun peeking through the heavy curtains I drift into darkness.

10:30am. The alarm rings. I roll over and whine. Squinting through a haze of exhaustion I watch her slowly crawl out of bed. Half asleep I hear her shower and drag her share of the gear into the hall. Before too long half the suitcases are gone, as is my friend. Her plane leaves soon. Mine doesn’t. I roll over and hide from the day, but I’m already awake.

11:15am I give up on sleep. I might as well start the day.

2:00pm. Showered, dressed, and packed I’m ready and waiting… for hours. A cab ride to Starbucks provides a welcome dose of caffeine and comfort. I can be a nerd for a couple hours.

4:30 pm. Back at the hotel, I finish closing zippers and staring blankly at the TV. I seem to be watching a follow up on the career of the New Kids on the Block. I’m too lazy to change the channel, besides it’s almost time to go and maybe the life of Jordan Knight is interesting.

4:45pm. realize I haven’t eaten today.

5:10pm. In another cab, this time on the way to the airport. The boy at the check in counter is cute and friendly. He’s my new favourite WestJet employee of the day as he barely charges me for the extra checked baggage. He remembers Ashley from earlier, and did the same for her. What a doll.

5:40pm. I roll my eyes at security girl who wants my MAC lip gloss in a Ziplock before I’m allowed to take it on the plane. They’ve run out of baggies. The guy working at the gift shop finds me a tiny baggie so I can continue through security. Some things I’m willing to sacrifice. Chapstick- sure. MAC tingle shimmer gloss- not a chance.

5:50pm. Sunshine calls. He can’t make it up to see me tonight. Work needs him. It happens. Contingency plan, I call Ashley and get the name of her driver in TO. She offers to make a few calls and txt msg me if she figures something out.

6:10pm. Board plane.

6:25pm. Ashley calls as the flight attendants are going over emergency exits. She got a hold of her driver, and he’ll meet me at the airport. Sweet!! I’m disappointed about Sunshine, but hopefully our schedules with work out soon.

7:50pm. There’s nothing on TV. I munch on a bag of cashews. This does NOT count as dinner, but it's a start. Yawn… (cross time zone and loose an hour)

9:45pm. I’m in Toronto. I’m exhausted and starving. My driver is right where he said he’d be, and he recognizes me immediately. I must look like a stripper. I suspect my luggage is a dead giveaway.

10:40pm. I don’t know where I am, but somewhere in this isolated industrial area is my new home for two weeks. I grab a quick glance in the mirror and head into the bar. I love it. The multileveled floor plan both isolates the room into intimate corners, and creates a central focus around the stage. The room is dim, and feels inviting. I watch patrons enjoy conversations with scantily clad beauties as I weave through the room to the office. I need a key, and an introduction. All is well, and I’m sure I’ll have a good time here. Starving a grab a Chicken Caesar salad and wander through the darkness to my room. The bar is the only life in the neighbourhood, and my apartment is hidden above dark store fronts. The pillows are speckled with lavender flowers and the canary walls create a homey atmosphere. I feel safe here.

Monday Nov 6. 1:00am
My concentration wavers as George Stroumboulopoulos talks Kyoto with David Suzuki in the background. A can of iced tea rests on the bedside table next to my cell phone. I swear I can create a home in 10 minutes. All I have to do is open the bags, and my personality overflows into the room. Flicking channels impatiently, I’m trying to kill a bit more time. I need to stay awake just a little bit longer. I need to switch my laundry before I can pass out for the night. Saddam Hussein has been declared guilty and sentenced to execution. It’s a strange moment. I feel detached and uninformed. With so much propaganda being fed through the media, I’ve found myself frustrated with everything political. I wonder if Saddam will actually be hung. What a strange concept. A trial with international attention resulting in a sentence that reminds me of old westerns and historical revolutions.

1:30am
I’m done. The alarm is set for 10. My care bear is nuzzled in my breast. The pillow is soft. CSI is providing a familiar distraction and I’ll be asleep soon.