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Jay and The Final Gangbang.
I'm bilingual and they were hiring, she said, followed by LOL. I smiled and shook my head at that.
Lots of foreigners come to Canada with more ambition and drive than the locals, and it would seem that Nashida was one of them. Good for her. My family moved to Ottawa when I was only about three, and we've had our share of difficulties but at least my parents expected me to make something of myself. That's why I'm at Carleton, studying civil engineering. A lot of minority guys aren't so lucky. Born in Canada to Somali, Arab, South Asian or Persian families, they have zero ambition and don't even bother with going to college or university. They end up working at Tim Horton's and spend their days smoking, chasing girls and watching TV. Girls from those same minority families attend Ottawa's colleges and universities, and end up working pretty decent jobs for the government or private sector. Such is life.
I want to open up my own realty firm someday, Nashida wrote, and I had to smile. The gal's got ambition, and she's pretty. What was I getting myself into? Nashida and I had been 'talking' for three hours, and had learned quite a bit about each other. I cannot believe I told this young woman whom I had just met about my dissatisfaction with my work, my parents marriage being on the rocks, and my hope to start my own company someday.
Going to have to let you go because I have to answer this call, Nashida wrote, followed by 'goodnight brother'. I smiled and wished her goodnight. I checked the time, and gawked. Damn, it was already four in the morning. How time flies when you're talking to a pretty lady and have nothing else to do. I smiled as I looked at Nashida's profile picture one more time. I saw her something in those eyes of hers, even through the photograph. A simple color picture of her sporting a red jacket and pink hijab. What a cutie, I said aloud, then logged off Facebook.
In hindsight, I'm definitely not the most observant person in the world, given that I'm a security guard and lack attention to detail. The next morning, I went home and fell asleep on my bed minutes after setting foot in my apartment. Didn't wake up till two in the afternoon. I went to the washroom, shat, showered, then left. May had arrived and like all university students in Ottawa, my bus pass expires. With less than seventy dollars in my account, I can't afford the ninety-eight-dollar regular adult bus pass. I am, ahem, screwed. What good is a security guard who can't get around town?
I went to my neighbor, this Sudanese dude named William something or other who lives on the same floor I do, and asked to use his phone. I figured I'd call the company, get in touch with my scheduler and get more shifts. William flat out said no, then slammed the door in my face. So much for black solidarity, eh? Great. I have no way of getting in touch with my scheduler. Only thing I can think of is going to the campus library and send him an email. I just hope he hadn't left the office yet.
Do you have any idea how long it takes a six-foot-one, 250-pound, severely out of shape Somali brother like myself to walk from my apartment on Coventry road, deep inside Vanier, to the Carleton campus on Colonel By? I left the house around three and walked up Donald Street, toward Montreal Road and Rideau, and then finally made my way toward Bronson Avenue through Gloucester. I attracted a lot of stares on the road, for folks don't walk long distances in Ottawa unless it's a special event. Finally, I arrived at the library.
Immediately I looked for a spot to sit, logged on and signed into my Yahoo account. I had two emails from my scheduler, apparently he was looking for someone to do three overnight shifts starting this weekend, and when he couldn't get in touch with me, they went to someone else. Great. I sat there, for a long moment, and stared at the computer. Can a man be this damn unlucky? Don't answer that. I was still sulking when I overheard female voices coming in from the reception desk.
It's been a couple of weeks sin