sure. wait. what?

A friend texted me Saturday morning to see if I was still down to go to the art show that we had planned to check out. Wary of being branded flaky, I body-slammed the urge to hide away from the baking heat and dragged myself out of bed. Sounds good, I replied.

L dropped me off at the venue, a community centre north of downtown just a few blocks away from one of the few hip streets in the city. Brick storefronts, themed cafés, refilleries for the Earth-conscious — that type of curated cool. I told L not to worry about picking me up. “I’ll just walk home, no problem.”

At the art show, I grabbed a zine, some postcards, and a handful of stickers. I probably would’ve gotten more if I had brought a bag with me, but I’m sure my wallet was grateful for my lack of foresight.

Since my friend and I met at noon, she also got us lunch from a nearby poutine spot. The portions were massive and I couldn’t finish mine. My friend also handed over the pair of shoes that I had left at her place. “I’ll just carry them, it’s fine,” I said, after she apologized for not putting them in a bag.

By the end of our Saturday hang, I was carrying a half-eaten box of poutine, a bag of art show goodies, and a pair of shoes hooked on my fingers. The heat was infernal, and I had neither a cap nor sunglasses with me. An hour-long walk in that state was a slow march towards misery. 

I considered heading to the nearest bus stop about 15 minutes away, but my brain wasn’t in the mood for practical. It was Saturday, I was already out, so I instead wandered over to Hipster Avenue and popped into a few consignment stores on a hunt for a backpack.

I found a cheap backpack and a pair of sunglasses. And a pair of pants. And a pair of shorts. And a necklace. 

Again: I wasn’t in the mood for practical. 

Once I had a backpack and a pair of sunnies, I figured I might as well walk home after all. Everything fit nicely in the bag, and with my new sunglasses on, the idea of walking under the blistering sun didn’t feel nearly as miserable.

About 30 minutes into my walk, I spotted a bus stop and thought, Okay, maybe the bus wouldn’t be so bad now. I had already gotten my steps in, and I had probably turned fifty shades tanner too. Plus, at that point, $4 for the bus fare wouldn’t make much of a dent in the day’s (monetary) damage.

The bus stop was next to a gas station with a convenience store, so while waiting for the bus (on a Saturday, Eheads-style), I went in and bought a lottery ticket. The banks are predicting a recession this year, so I might as well shoot my shot. I folded the lottery ticket in half and tucked it in my card holder, right between my bank card and my credit card. The bus arrived shortly after.

The bus ride took 10 minutes. As soon as I got home, I instantly felt calm and at peace, the kind of peace that comes from the sheer relief of being back in my own space and away from the scalding sun.

I’m not built for being out and about, I thought to myself as I pressed the power button of the AC and began removing my millennial ankle socks hands-free, my big toe pulling the fabric off the sole of my foot as if on autopilot. I’m built for silence, familiar walls, and the unmatched luxury of having my own bathroom.

No matter how fun the day, how satisfying the purchases, or how warm the company, always, my favourite part of going out is coming home.