A few days ago, I did the dumbest thing ever and pre-ordered Harry Potter off Amazon.com

It was all in an effort to save a few bucks (I was ordering another book at the same time), but I realize now I could have gotten the book here (in England) for even cheaper and at nearly any store.

And since I won’t be getting my copy until, like, a gazillion years from now (i.e. 2 weeks), I’m forced to carefully, laboriously tread the Internet, mindful of any potential spoilers.

I’m talking to you, woman.

To: Phil
From: Nishant
Date: Today
Subject: The girl on the bus

I can’t believe you told that whole story just to say that you dutifully looked away.

You’re classic Phil.

To: Nishant
From: Phil
Date: Today
Subject: Re: The girl on the bus

Don’t tell me you were expecting something else!

Come on now! This is Phil we’re talking about. The man that’s destined for a future of misery and loneliness, whilst surrounded by math books and crazy cats.

- p

After a six hour flight, a 40 minute bus ride from Heathrow to Reading, and quick cab ride to the University…

“This might not be so bad after all,” I thought to myself as I gazed over my home for the next week.

From left to right:
(1) Towels and a complimentary pack
(2) Complimentary instant coffee, creme, sugar, and cups I pilfered from the shared kitchen [Yeah, I know, I know. I’m going to hell]
(3) Blazing fast internet connection
(4) Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Re-reading in preparation. My copy of the seventh and final is still being shipped from Amazon.com. Anybody that spoils it for me is going to get the axe.

(Not shown: A door leading to my toilet, sink, shower)

Since things don’t really get started until this evening when we all convene for dinner, I’ve got half a day to myself.

I’m going to take a quick shower, have a protein shake, then see if I can find the local grocery shops to buy some food.

Oh, I just love how British bills don’t fit into my wallet. Lovely.

Today, I’m leaving (again) to England to attend a conference. My supervisor and I will be presenting our work Monday and we’ll both be heading back to Ottawa next Saturday.

I’m not too keen on this trip. Truth is, I’m a bit tired of traveling at this point and I’d much rather settle down in Ottawa and sort my life out.

But you gotta do what you gotta do, right?

Another 4 or 5 hours until I leave, but I’m still packing.

As usual, I’ll keep you posted.

Today, I took the bus to the Rideau Centre.

Now, in the sentence above, there are two subtle, devilish mistakes. Can you spot em’?

The first one is “bus”.

Having long harnessed the ability to drive and having obtained a convenient parking pass to my University, it’s been ages since I’ve used the (admittedly awesome) public transportation in Ottawa. Bus? Hah! How pedestrian.

The second one is “Rideau Centre”.

For foreigners, the Rideau Centre is a large(ish) shopping mall located in downtown Ottawa. It’s also a big bus hub. I suppose when you’re a kid and enjoying your first taste of socializing, the Rideau Centre is the place to be.

Being neither a kid, nor having a social life, it’s also been ages since I’ve wandered into that bright deathtrap of teenaged angst.

feeling guilty

Anyways, she turned and caught me staring. Probably with my mouth hanging open, eyes huge like golf balls. And most likely with a shimmery strand of drool rolling down my chin.

So dutifully, I looked away. I imagine I was looking like a bit of a creep.

Anyways, it wasn’t like I was there to socialize. I was a man on a mission. I needed to exchange Canadian dollars to British Pounds.

I was not there to window shop. I was not there to chill. In and out.

Yeah, ’cause that’s how I roll.

So I’m heading down the escalator — my eye on the conversion bank and a giant “Fuck Off” sign on my forehead — and this girl walks by, looks at me, then waves. She’s pretty, dressed stylishly, and seems to know me.

I gave her one of my classic looks.

You know, the confused, pained one.

“I was your student,” she said simply.

“What class?” I asked, still confused and still descending rapidly.

“Linear Algebra,” she said.

Almost out of sight, I nodded knowingly, and waved back.

And that was that. But still, there’s a point here.

The point is, I’m famous, baby!

After that random encounter, I had just about as much excitement as I cared for: I took the bus, I went to a shopping mall, I was even recognized in public. I was in serious need of a nap.

So I’m riding the bus back — sitting at the back — and I spot this girl sitting at the front. And for some inexplicable, incomprehensible reason, I felt this immense attraction towards her. Like nothing I’ve felt before. Well, no, that’s a lie. But still, it was like puppy dog lust.

She had auburn hair. I think it was auburn. It could have been more of a burgundy or a maroon, but let’s not split hairs (haha). I’ve never been good with swatches.

Embarrassing, I know.

She had a terrific set of eyes. Brown? Maybe. I was pretty far away, I can’t say. Unfortunately, her fashion sense was a huge faux pas. She was dressed in black. All black. Leather jacket and black pants. She also had one of those grotesque lip rings. Yeah, horrendous, I know.

And this is coming from a guy whose idea of a fashionable outfit is white t-shirts and jeans.

But man, she was gorgeous, nonetheless.

Anyways, she turned and caught me staring. Probably with my mouth hanging open, eyes huge like golf balls. And most likely with a shimmery strand of drool rolling down my chin.

So dutifully, I looked away. I imagine I was looking like a bit of a creep.

But what an adventure. I should wander outside of academia a bit more often. It’s rather fun.

If any of my readers would like to offer me tips on how to pick up pretty girls on a bus in a non-creepy manner, you know how to reach me.