I flew down to San Francisco last week to start my holidays. I try to give myself a little extra time to make it through immigration these days since the Americans take great interest in my Syrian visa. And sure enough, they liked it so much this time I got taken aside for questioning. I got my passport stamped by unhappy guy, who was actually flagging everybody who went through judging by the number of people going to Room 2. They all passed through in 30 seconds, I got to stay for questioning by two officials for about 10 minutes. Here's the abbreviated version:
them: Syria, whoa!! what for?
me: learn the language
them: why? why arabic? why not here?
me: can't learn it here, easier and cheaper there. syria's nice, has sun, nice people, no other tourists.
them: study at a mosque?
me: no, damascus university.
them: that a private place?
me: no, it's a government funded university.
them: what's it called again?
me: damascus university, think of dam u if it helps you to remember it.
them: blah blah blah would you go back? afraid of being kidnapped???
me: ??? blah blah blah
them and me: blah blah inane blah blah stereotypes blah blah blah for 8 more minutes
them: k, stay here.
guy #1 takes my passport behind some door with one-way glass. comes back 10 minutes later.
guy #1: do you know why we questioned you?
me: syria's a hostile country?
guy #1: no no no (laughing) we were afraid you converted to islam or something.
yes, oh yes they can say that. not sure what the fear is though. maybe converting to islam automatically makes someone a bad guy? nice to see we don't easily give up erroneous pre-conceived notions.
for the record, entry into canada took less than a minute. immigration guy looked at my picture, asked me how my trip was, and waved me through. o canada...
September 3, 2008
July 11, 2008
Billy Idol Weird
This past weekend as a family event, my brother, sister, and I went to check out Billy Idol live in concert. “Live” might be a misnomer since Billy wasn’t very lively, more stoned and confused. The concert started off in a promising manner with the stage going dark and the sounds of lions and tigers and general jungle atmosphere rocking the theatre while the band came on stage. Lights up and… Billy wanders onto the stage looking like he’s not quite sure where he is. He lifts his head for a moment to look around and then treats us all to a big yawn. We three siblings look at each other to confirm that we saw the same thing, yep, and we’re off to the stoner races.
I can’t even remember what song he started with but he manages to sing it in key and with most of the lyrics intact while looking at the floor and tapping his chest in time to the beat. A little karaoke-ish, no?, and I want to yell, “It’s ok, Billy. They’re your songs, you can own them.” Song’s over, he mumbles something incoherent and we move on to White Wedding which he also performs moderately well. A few more songs, then everyone but the fanastic Steve Stevens (dude, what is that on your head??) leaves the stage for a break while Steve-O brings down the house with his excellent guitar riffage. Billy takes a hit of something backstage cuz when he comes back on he’s animated for all of 20 seconds.
We’re thinking the road crew must panic a little with the worry that Billy might wander off somewhere and disappear so it looks like they’ve given him tasks while he’s up on stage not singing. Like a roadie brings him an acoustic guitar which he expertly swings onto his neck before playing… nothing. Just standing there for most of the song with fingers on frets but no movement. Then he lifts his hands like he’s going to play and… more of nothing. End of song and two small chords later he passes the guitar back to the roadie. Then another rocking song with yet another fantastic solo by S.S., more time to kill for Billy. So he wanders back to the drum kit and picks up a drum stick, positioning himself behind the snare like he’s ready to kill it. Nope. Instead he tap tap taps it like he’s testing a steak on the barbecue for doneness and then pauses long enough to spin the cymbal around and stare at it in it’s rotating glory. A bit more tapping, spinning, tapping, he’s done. But there’s still more soloing going on and Billy needs purpose so one of the roadies has put a stack of white discs at the front of the drum kit. Billy picks them up and stares at them for a good minute or two before whipping them out into the audience. Fan appreciation moment over.
Not that I’m complaining. As we discussed afterwards, we all felt like we’d gotten our money’s worth although perhaps not for the show we were expecting. Nobody yells as well as Billy and Rebel Yell was the price of the ticket alone. Plus he has THE SEXIEST SPEAKING VOICE of anyone on the planet and his stomach still looks rock hard. Yes, he took off his shirt. As we exited the theatre I saw a few star-gazing, feminine mulleted variety ladies holding those white discs. Up close I discovered they were not Frisbees but white Corette paper plates with Billy’s autograph. Klasssss-eh.
Rebel YELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!
I can’t even remember what song he started with but he manages to sing it in key and with most of the lyrics intact while looking at the floor and tapping his chest in time to the beat. A little karaoke-ish, no?, and I want to yell, “It’s ok, Billy. They’re your songs, you can own them.” Song’s over, he mumbles something incoherent and we move on to White Wedding which he also performs moderately well. A few more songs, then everyone but the fanastic Steve Stevens (dude, what is that on your head??) leaves the stage for a break while Steve-O brings down the house with his excellent guitar riffage. Billy takes a hit of something backstage cuz when he comes back on he’s animated for all of 20 seconds.
We’re thinking the road crew must panic a little with the worry that Billy might wander off somewhere and disappear so it looks like they’ve given him tasks while he’s up on stage not singing. Like a roadie brings him an acoustic guitar which he expertly swings onto his neck before playing… nothing. Just standing there for most of the song with fingers on frets but no movement. Then he lifts his hands like he’s going to play and… more of nothing. End of song and two small chords later he passes the guitar back to the roadie. Then another rocking song with yet another fantastic solo by S.S., more time to kill for Billy. So he wanders back to the drum kit and picks up a drum stick, positioning himself behind the snare like he’s ready to kill it. Nope. Instead he tap tap taps it like he’s testing a steak on the barbecue for doneness and then pauses long enough to spin the cymbal around and stare at it in it’s rotating glory. A bit more tapping, spinning, tapping, he’s done. But there’s still more soloing going on and Billy needs purpose so one of the roadies has put a stack of white discs at the front of the drum kit. Billy picks them up and stares at them for a good minute or two before whipping them out into the audience. Fan appreciation moment over.
Not that I’m complaining. As we discussed afterwards, we all felt like we’d gotten our money’s worth although perhaps not for the show we were expecting. Nobody yells as well as Billy and Rebel Yell was the price of the ticket alone. Plus he has THE SEXIEST SPEAKING VOICE of anyone on the planet and his stomach still looks rock hard. Yes, he took off his shirt. As we exited the theatre I saw a few star-gazing, feminine mulleted variety ladies holding those white discs. Up close I discovered they were not Frisbees but white Corette paper plates with Billy’s autograph. Klasssss-eh.
Rebel YELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!
April 15, 2008
Mmmmmm!
Have you ever taken a bite of something and it was sooooo good that you all of a sudden remembered what food was supposed to taste like? I'm eating a salad I made at home last night and the grape tomatoes are almost like a spiritual experience. Wait, I'm taking another bite... perfect!! Just one of those little moments that makes life worth living.
April 7, 2008
Qu'est-ce que le fuq?!!!
Things I wish I hadn't seen in order of sightings:
1. dog in hoodie
2. dog in puffy
3. gold lame (lam-eh) jacket in shop window, FOR A GUY
4. dog in anorak
Note to people who follow trends: there IS a reason we all laugh at MC Hammer
1. dog in hoodie
2. dog in puffy
3. gold lame (lam-eh) jacket in shop window, FOR A GUY
4. dog in anorak
Note to people who follow trends: there IS a reason we all laugh at MC Hammer
April 1, 2008
Hooray for Hookahs!!!
An exciting thing happened in the city of Vancouver on March 31, 2008. Hookah houses were made exempt from the new by-laws banning smoking in public places. The cafes won’t be closed down if they only serve nicotine-free herbs instead of flavoured tobacco, which means pot-free water pipe enthusiasts will still have a place to chill out, albeit for the price of $15/pipe.
While in favour of this exemption, I’m not sure how it will stick and so I continue to buy flavoured tobacco, both with and without nicotine (although one café owner did say there was no such thing as ‘nicotine free’ tobacco). It’s far cheaper to smoke in my apartment and I can serve food and other beverages if I so desire. At least I’ll continue to smoke in my apartment until the City decides it’s not in my best interest and bans that as well.
While in favour of this exemption, I’m not sure how it will stick and so I continue to buy flavoured tobacco, both with and without nicotine (although one café owner did say there was no such thing as ‘nicotine free’ tobacco). It’s far cheaper to smoke in my apartment and I can serve food and other beverages if I so desire. At least I’ll continue to smoke in my apartment until the City decides it’s not in my best interest and bans that as well.
March 8, 2008
Refugee Food Distribution
When I was living in Damascus last year, some of my closest friends were Iraqi refugees. Our view of refugees is that they are poor, uneducated, and live in tents on the outskirts of cities. This is not what I saw as my friends lived in a decent apartment down the street from my place. I met H. at an internet cafe when she was checking her email for pictures of her grandkids in other parts of the world. Her husband is a retired doctor and his stories of working in the First Gulf War are crazy. They had to pull their daughter out of university in Baghdad when her classmates were being kidnapped and killed and the situation was too dangerous to let her keep going. They are all highly educated and speak English fluently. Yet they have run out of their savings and now have to depend on the U.N. for food rations. Here is H.'s account of how they got their food last month:
On the twenty seventh of last month was our turn to receive our share of food. We got up very early in the morning and went to the president`s bridge and yet when we got there we got the number 240 in line so you can imagine the number of people. Because I stood in the women`s line I got a number earlier than if we waited for my husband to reach the gate. At first we were seated in a big tent, where lines of seats were provided. 20 people were called every time, to another tent. When our turn came we went yet to another tent where the first number was taken from us and we were given another one. 50 people were called this time and we had to go to yet another tent ( it was exactly like playing musical chairs ). This time we were called into a building where my husband got a card for food distribution. Now the fourth tent, we gave our name and waited to be called. A car driver was called for each family who would come with each person to yet another tent to receive the food ( Have you been counting the tents? ) I had to leave my husband go back home by bus because there was no place for me near the driver. I could have sat in the open rear with the food ( I think I would have looked ridiculous ). The food does help a lot ( rice, sugar, tea, two kinds of grains, tomato paste, spaghetti, cleaning detergent and sponge beds with light blankets ) we were given three amounts. They say this amount will be given every two months.
As I write this I can look out my window down the street to the corner market where I buy my food, whatever I want whenever I want. The only line I stand in consists of the three people in front of me who pay with cash and not food stamps. I'll get my paycheque this coming Friday so if I'm low on cash I know the next supply is not far away. I might not be rich in cash, but I am rich in the ease of my life.
On the twenty seventh of last month was our turn to receive our share of food. We got up very early in the morning and went to the president`s bridge and yet when we got there we got the number 240 in line so you can imagine the number of people. Because I stood in the women`s line I got a number earlier than if we waited for my husband to reach the gate. At first we were seated in a big tent, where lines of seats were provided. 20 people were called every time, to another tent. When our turn came we went yet to another tent where the first number was taken from us and we were given another one. 50 people were called this time and we had to go to yet another tent ( it was exactly like playing musical chairs ). This time we were called into a building where my husband got a card for food distribution. Now the fourth tent, we gave our name and waited to be called. A car driver was called for each family who would come with each person to yet another tent to receive the food ( Have you been counting the tents? ) I had to leave my husband go back home by bus because there was no place for me near the driver. I could have sat in the open rear with the food ( I think I would have looked ridiculous ). The food does help a lot ( rice, sugar, tea, two kinds of grains, tomato paste, spaghetti, cleaning detergent and sponge beds with light blankets ) we were given three amounts. They say this amount will be given every two months.
As I write this I can look out my window down the street to the corner market where I buy my food, whatever I want whenever I want. The only line I stand in consists of the three people in front of me who pay with cash and not food stamps. I'll get my paycheque this coming Friday so if I'm low on cash I know the next supply is not far away. I might not be rich in cash, but I am rich in the ease of my life.
January 18, 2008
Hookah-less Vancouver
Provincial by-laws will prevail and Vancouver's hookah houses will be closed down. According to CKNW this morning, "The rules are intended to protect workers, but cigar store owners who have smoking rooms argued the rooms are for clients and staff don't enter." Anyone ever been to a hookah house? Anyone ever seen the people working there smoking the pipe? I go, not regularly since I own my own shisha, but when I do go it is precisely to smoke a hookah and talk to the other people in the shop. There's nothing else offered in these little cafes besides one kind of tea - no food, no alcohol, no drugs. These are not destinations for people who want to chill out in a smokeless environment or imbibe in a variety of teas or other beverages. Every time I've been to a hookah house, EVERYONE is smoking, including the staff.
Now you might argue the smoke thing smells gross and a lot of people are allergic or react violently to it. My mom is one such person and eating out on a patio is not an option since even outdoors the smoke causes her to have a migraine. However, I fired up my shisha in front of her the other day and smoked it. Nothing, no reaction to the smell or smoke. Her only issue with it is moral. And for the record, I never have to air out my clothes for two days afterwards, nor do they smell stale.
Now I haven't done any scientific research into this and the hazards of smoking a hookah and I know there are lots of people who argue for the evils of it. So I invite people to comment on my seeming ignorance. In case you haven't grasped what I'm getting at here, I think the bylaw is not based on anything substantial and is stupid for lack of a better word.
Thankfully they haven't banned smoking in my own living room, although at the rate they do things in the West to keep us 'safe' I'm sure that will happen in the future. Until then, if anyone wants to come over and smoke a lovely pipe of apple or cherry, drop me a line. I'll fire up the pipe, brew a lovely pot of tea and haul out the backgammon set. Smoke all you want, the charcoal's cooking.
Now you might argue the smoke thing smells gross and a lot of people are allergic or react violently to it. My mom is one such person and eating out on a patio is not an option since even outdoors the smoke causes her to have a migraine. However, I fired up my shisha in front of her the other day and smoked it. Nothing, no reaction to the smell or smoke. Her only issue with it is moral. And for the record, I never have to air out my clothes for two days afterwards, nor do they smell stale.
Now I haven't done any scientific research into this and the hazards of smoking a hookah and I know there are lots of people who argue for the evils of it. So I invite people to comment on my seeming ignorance. In case you haven't grasped what I'm getting at here, I think the bylaw is not based on anything substantial and is stupid for lack of a better word.
Thankfully they haven't banned smoking in my own living room, although at the rate they do things in the West to keep us 'safe' I'm sure that will happen in the future. Until then, if anyone wants to come over and smoke a lovely pipe of apple or cherry, drop me a line. I'll fire up the pipe, brew a lovely pot of tea and haul out the backgammon set. Smoke all you want, the charcoal's cooking.
January 14, 2008
Vancouver Winter
For all those people who come to Vancouver in the summer and say how much they love it and want to live here, try it in a winter like the one we're having now.
The difference between rain and snow in the winter is the brightness. At least with snow the sun is able to shine through the clouds somewhat and give the impression of light. With rain, it's dark all the time. Last week, dark. It's 8:35am right now and as I look out the window from my office I can barely see 10 blocks away. Not that it's black, more like a dreary grey that's trying to glow but can't.
And the cold feels colder than it actually is because it bites through your clothes and sinks right into your bones. I hate winter here. I want to see the sun for more than an hour every two days. I want to show up somewhere without arriving damp or drenched. I want to stand on the streetcorner waiting to cross without getting another shower from the car plowing through the puddles.
For those who think it's the most livable or beautiful city in the world, come on over and have a go. Blah.
The difference between rain and snow in the winter is the brightness. At least with snow the sun is able to shine through the clouds somewhat and give the impression of light. With rain, it's dark all the time. Last week, dark. It's 8:35am right now and as I look out the window from my office I can barely see 10 blocks away. Not that it's black, more like a dreary grey that's trying to glow but can't.
And the cold feels colder than it actually is because it bites through your clothes and sinks right into your bones. I hate winter here. I want to see the sun for more than an hour every two days. I want to show up somewhere without arriving damp or drenched. I want to stand on the streetcorner waiting to cross without getting another shower from the car plowing through the puddles.
For those who think it's the most livable or beautiful city in the world, come on over and have a go. Blah.
January 10, 2008
Public Pool: Part 2
Back at the pool last night and into the hottub for the usual relaxation session. Sweater lady wasn’t there but the guy who hogs the jets on the steps was, bobbing up and down to massage his back and block the entrance. Some other guy exits the steamroom and hops under the shower to cool down. How do we know the water was cold? “I love cold showers!! Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold! Yes, yes, yes, I love cold showers!! Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold! Yes! Cold showers!” Intersperse this with a little deep digging for phlegm and you’ve got one happy guy in the cold shower.
January 8, 2008
My Neighbourhood
I love my neighbourhood. I’ve been living there for just over 4 months and have enjoyed every minute of it.
My building is not too big, maybe 25 suites in all, so there aren’t so many tenants. It’s like every other big city though, none of us know each other, so what I do know about them comes from seeing them at their windows or hearing them through the walls.
The people across the hall have sing-along sessions every week and from what I can hear, they actually know how to play the guitar. Sounds kind of folky and sounds kind of nice. The guy to the right of my apartment, I have no idea what he does for a job, but whatever it is he needs to unload on Friday nights which means he opens all his windows and cranks Diamond Dave Van Halen til about midnight. During the day on Saturdays he’s usually playing other 80’s rock classics so I’ve become reacquainted with Europe and some AC/DC I’d completely forgotten about. The girl above my apartment, let’s just say she yelps like a dog when she’s ‘excited’ and she gets excited A LOT. Usually at 3 in the morning, but also at 7, 8, and 10:30 in the evenings. Sometimes it’s 6:30 on Saturday mornings or 2 o’clock Sunday afternoons. I’ve never seen her, I assume she sleeps a lot as she must be tired from all the activity.
My building is on the corner of a busy intersection and my apartment is the corner suite so I get to hear everything going on outside. Every night around 12:30 some guy walks by under my bedroom window playing a harmonica. I hear lots of animated conversations but can’t understand most of them as they are usually in Japanese, Korean, Portuguese and Spanish. It makes for pleasant white noise when I’m kicking around, but I’m always surprised when I finally do understand something being spoken in English. The street also seems to be the strip for drunken party-goers and a lot of them like to talk loudly and laugh about their exploits. One early morning three girls were laughing and yelling about how funny they were. Next thing they were all puking just under my window and chanting, “We’re funny but we’re not pretty, ha ha ha ha.” I hope they got home alright.
The best burger joint in the world is two blocks away, serving bison, muskox, and ostrich burgers. When you order their fries, you will be constantly reminded that they are hand-cut. “Here are your hand-cut fries.” “How are you hand-cut fries?” “Would you like some more hand-cut fries?” I finally asked if slave labour was cutting the fries by hand in the kitchen. Whoosh, over her head. “No, the fries are put through a hand-operated machine by one of our employees.”
Rumour is that the Hell’s Angels operate the super expensive Super-Valu three blocks away. I prefer to do my shopping at the little hole-in-the-wall grocery store where everything is way cheaper. From the outside it looks like a fruit and vegetable stand, but when you get inside it stretches way to the back and is packed with tons of shelves lining tiny aisles that you almost have to walk through sideways. At Christmas all the employees wore Santa hats and threw a store 30th anniversary party, clearing out the bread aisle to make room for a dance floor.
The angriest people in the world work at the video store around the corner and I’d say they go out of their way to be miserable except that it appears to be in their nature to be permanently unhappy. They should be happy, they all have excellent hair.
I’ve got a crush on the guy who used to work the nightshift at the corner convenience store. It made getting my morning coffees worth getting up for as my current job doesn’t inspire me to do so. He hasn’t been there in the mornings for weeks now, I wonder where he’s gone.
My building is not too big, maybe 25 suites in all, so there aren’t so many tenants. It’s like every other big city though, none of us know each other, so what I do know about them comes from seeing them at their windows or hearing them through the walls.
The people across the hall have sing-along sessions every week and from what I can hear, they actually know how to play the guitar. Sounds kind of folky and sounds kind of nice. The guy to the right of my apartment, I have no idea what he does for a job, but whatever it is he needs to unload on Friday nights which means he opens all his windows and cranks Diamond Dave Van Halen til about midnight. During the day on Saturdays he’s usually playing other 80’s rock classics so I’ve become reacquainted with Europe and some AC/DC I’d completely forgotten about. The girl above my apartment, let’s just say she yelps like a dog when she’s ‘excited’ and she gets excited A LOT. Usually at 3 in the morning, but also at 7, 8, and 10:30 in the evenings. Sometimes it’s 6:30 on Saturday mornings or 2 o’clock Sunday afternoons. I’ve never seen her, I assume she sleeps a lot as she must be tired from all the activity.
My building is on the corner of a busy intersection and my apartment is the corner suite so I get to hear everything going on outside. Every night around 12:30 some guy walks by under my bedroom window playing a harmonica. I hear lots of animated conversations but can’t understand most of them as they are usually in Japanese, Korean, Portuguese and Spanish. It makes for pleasant white noise when I’m kicking around, but I’m always surprised when I finally do understand something being spoken in English. The street also seems to be the strip for drunken party-goers and a lot of them like to talk loudly and laugh about their exploits. One early morning three girls were laughing and yelling about how funny they were. Next thing they were all puking just under my window and chanting, “We’re funny but we’re not pretty, ha ha ha ha.” I hope they got home alright.
The best burger joint in the world is two blocks away, serving bison, muskox, and ostrich burgers. When you order their fries, you will be constantly reminded that they are hand-cut. “Here are your hand-cut fries.” “How are you hand-cut fries?” “Would you like some more hand-cut fries?” I finally asked if slave labour was cutting the fries by hand in the kitchen. Whoosh, over her head. “No, the fries are put through a hand-operated machine by one of our employees.”
Rumour is that the Hell’s Angels operate the super expensive Super-Valu three blocks away. I prefer to do my shopping at the little hole-in-the-wall grocery store where everything is way cheaper. From the outside it looks like a fruit and vegetable stand, but when you get inside it stretches way to the back and is packed with tons of shelves lining tiny aisles that you almost have to walk through sideways. At Christmas all the employees wore Santa hats and threw a store 30th anniversary party, clearing out the bread aisle to make room for a dance floor.
The angriest people in the world work at the video store around the corner and I’d say they go out of their way to be miserable except that it appears to be in their nature to be permanently unhappy. They should be happy, they all have excellent hair.
I’ve got a crush on the guy who used to work the nightshift at the corner convenience store. It made getting my morning coffees worth getting up for as my current job doesn’t inspire me to do so. He hasn’t been there in the mornings for weeks now, I wonder where he’s gone.
January 7, 2008
Public Pool: Part 1
I'm back at the pool in attempts to get back in shape for some races in the spring/summer. I haven't done any swimming in more than two years and I feel the weakness in every muscle on my upper body. But at least I'm back at it and one of the benefits is hanging out in the hottub after a swim and stretching out where it's nice and warm.
The other day my goggles jammed out halfway through my swim so I had to toss them, the result being bloodshot eyes and almost zero vision since I wasn't wearing my contacts.
As I jumped into the hottub, I stumbled over a lady sitting on her own. Despite being almost blind I noticed two things about her:
1. she was wearing bright red shiny lipgloss
2. she was wearing a wetsuit
I think to myself, "weird". Why would you wear a wetsuit into the hottub? As I found my seat I glanced her way again and realized this time that she was not wearing a wetsuit. She was, in fact, wearing a red, pink, and black striped turtleneck sweater. Now I know a lot of women have image issues so it's not unusual to see females wearing all sorts of baggy things in a pool, but I've never seen a sweater before. And this is a very hot hottub. I find myself wondering if she's wearing shorts or track pants or perhaps a swimming suit down below. A few minutes later she stepped out of the hottub wearing... a black skirt and NYLONS. She then proceeded to take a shower in the rinse-off area, fully dressed, for about 5 minutes, carrying on a conversation with someone else. Then she left at which point I bolted from the room to follow her into the changeroom to see what came next... and she wasn't there! Where did she go???
The other day my goggles jammed out halfway through my swim so I had to toss them, the result being bloodshot eyes and almost zero vision since I wasn't wearing my contacts.
As I jumped into the hottub, I stumbled over a lady sitting on her own. Despite being almost blind I noticed two things about her:
1. she was wearing bright red shiny lipgloss
2. she was wearing a wetsuit
I think to myself, "weird". Why would you wear a wetsuit into the hottub? As I found my seat I glanced her way again and realized this time that she was not wearing a wetsuit. She was, in fact, wearing a red, pink, and black striped turtleneck sweater. Now I know a lot of women have image issues so it's not unusual to see females wearing all sorts of baggy things in a pool, but I've never seen a sweater before. And this is a very hot hottub. I find myself wondering if she's wearing shorts or track pants or perhaps a swimming suit down below. A few minutes later she stepped out of the hottub wearing... a black skirt and NYLONS. She then proceeded to take a shower in the rinse-off area, fully dressed, for about 5 minutes, carrying on a conversation with someone else. Then she left at which point I bolted from the room to follow her into the changeroom to see what came next... and she wasn't there! Where did she go???
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