YOU know you've had a hard day when a woman literally dressed as a Tootsie Roll starts feeling sorry for you.
We'll get back to that. First, are you familiar with that brilliant Japanese film Rashomon that beautifully illustrates the subjectivity of perception on recollection, demonstrating how multiple people can witness the exact same occurrence yet later recall it in drastically different ways? Me neither. But there was a joke about it on an episode of The Simpsons that I watched about 47 times, so I'm pretty much an expert on that whole perception subjectivity thingy. Probably. Maybe. Anyhoo, let's give it a try.
The good folks at Eat Vancouver recently invited me, foolishly you might argue, to their annual food extravaganza at BC Place to drink beer in their tasting pavilion. Being the all-around good guy that I am I offered my second ticket to my wife. Here's where things get a little strange - she accepted. And it wasn't just her, now I was sharing my beertravaganza with my wife, my toddler son and my baby son. By the end of the day, one of us would really need that Tootsie Roll's pity. See if you can guess who.
My day: My toddler son loves boats so he's absolutely beaming as we board the SeaBus, sail past an anchored cargo ship and pull into dock beside a giant cruise ship.
Sometimes it takes seeing the world through the eyes of a child to remember how blessed we are to live in such an interesting place.
My wife's day (in her own paraphrased words, as told to me later that night): Glad you're having good times on the boatride, fun boys.
Meanwhile I'm breastfeeding the little suckling while we race-walk up and down the dirty hallways of two train stations as well as the grungy Expo Line SkyTrain. Thanks for all the help, dad. Baby's not the only one who sucks.
My day: We arrive at BC Place and I strike off in search of the tickets that will feed us our delicious feast. On a quick spin by the beer pavilion I'm surprised to see that it's not yet open. Despite the jovial atmosphere inside the stadium, this is a working trip for me so it's time to start the Twitter quips.
"Beer garden doesn't open for 10 more minutes. Time for another riot?" I tweet out. LOL indeed. I guess I'll find the family and grab some grub.
My wife's day: As soon as we get into BC Place my husband mumbles something about tickets and goes running off in one direction while my toddler - whom dad is supposed to be watching - sprints off in the other direction.
The boy then starts playing one of his favourite games: Touch Everything. And with chocolates, coffee, nuts (which he's allergic to), pop, cheese, crock pots and knives all floating there head-height to a toddler, this is the World Series of Touch Everything.
When I finally catch him it dawns on me that he hasn't eaten since breakfast and it's way past snack time.
Surrounded by food, mine is the only kid maniacally repeating "I'm hungry I'm hungry I'm hungry I'm hungry." How are those tickets coming, dad?
My day: All the food in the world is available at the festival and what are we chowing down on? A grilled cheese sandwich. Kids. By the way, would it kill them to put a change table in this men's washroom. Wait, what am I saying? It's a football stadium - son, it's time to learn how to pee in a sink.
My wife's day: Speaking of pee, the baby is leaking all over this stadium. No change table in this women's washroom either. Looks like I'll be changing the baby on the disgusting counter. Can't go lengthwise though because the soap dispenser would drip goo all over his face. Oops, forgot the diaper bag - guess I'm carrying this pee-soaked cloth diaper back across the stadium. Lunchers look on with interest. "Hey lady, what's your secret sauce." You don't want to know.
Oh boy, time to let my husband go - he's so distracted by the beer pavilion next door that he just obliviously popped a jalapeno pepper into our toddler's mouth. Go. Shoo.
My day: Phew, finally finished my daddy duties and it's time to taste some beer. A bitter? Yes please. Raspberry?
Why not? Pepper lime lager? Surprisingly delish. IPA? Oh heavens yes. Security? No sir, nobody is bothering me. Oh, it's me? Yes, I'll try to walk straighter. Tee hee, that girl is dressed like a Tootsie Roll. How embarrassing. Wow, a meatball! What a day.
My wife's day: The baby is strapped to me in a carrier and I'm "feeding" the toddler a meatball. He insists on doing it himself, so now the "feeding" is actually more like a "smearing." On everything. We find daddy and he says he's almost finished and he'd love to share another meatball with the toddler, who insists he's still starving. Five minutes later I'm back at the rendezvous point with a suddenly awake and furious baby and a toddler screaming at me for the rest of this half-eaten meatball that I'm saving for daddy, who is nowhere in sight. Two minutes, meatball still in hand. Five minutes. Did I mention I don't eat beef? "Meatball meatball meatball meatball" my kid screams. 10 minutes. 15 minutes. About. To. Snap.
"Looks like you have your hands full," says a beautiful angel who appears out of nowhere. "Here, have a Tootsie Roll." What a day.
My day: Hey, there's my wife. She looks like she's having fun. Guess I'll have one more beer.
Domo arigato, baby.
