The Leviathan

This is the story of the Tim Horton's "drive-through" experience with my 1986 Ford Granada and my then-21 year old boyfriend. When I was in grade 12, about halfway through the year a young fellow appeared in my English class one day and sat right in front of me. He was from Toronto, and had come to live with his mom and step-dad, and was upgrading some classes at my school. He sang David Bowie songs to me, and took me afternoon drinking, and introduced me to Klimt and Bauhaus and the Rocky Horror Picture Show and Tom Robbins and P.I.L and all things mod and dark. We ended up getting an apartment together, I was 17 and freshly father-less, and we spent a good part of a year playing cards, drinking, and doing the occasional hit of acid. Me and him bought a car together with the help of his step-dad, and I was slowly teaching him how to drive. Growing up in Toronto = great public transit = no need for a driver's license. Anyways, one evening we went to his parent's for dinner. Right by their house was a movie store, and a Tim Hortons (Canarama Mall, for those playing along at home). We took back some movies after dinner and then decided to get a coffee. "I'm going to drive!" he said. "That's silly," said I, "it's 40 feet away, I'll walk" so I cut across the parking lot and he drove beside me and as he approached the front of the Tim's I waved him into a parking spot and watched in horror as he hit the gas instead of the brakes, and put that beast of a car straight through both sets of glass doors. My mouth dropped open. "I'm not even in the car" is running through my head. "He doesn't even have a learner's license..." So the cops show up and ask me what I'm on because my pupils are so fucking huge from adrenaline and we leave the car there and take a cab home. "Would you look at that!" exclaimed the cabbie, "somebody thought it was a drive-through!".

So we're on the evening news and we're being told that we owe $10,000 in damages for the store because we don't have insurance due to him not having a license. We make mad plans to move to the Yukon because we hear you can make good money up there. I seriously begin to imagine life as a showgirl in the north. Then, about 3 weeks later, we get a phone call from S.G.I. grudgingly explaining that we're off the hook - due to farm laws in Saskatchewan you don't have to have a license to drive on private property, and since we were on a parking lot, which is private property... we got served a $110 ticket for driving with undue care and attention. And the car came away with only a scratch.

Oh yeah ~ and I am was on 25peeps.com. Check it. I fucking rock(ed).