My Summer of B-List Celebrity Encounters, Part 1

It was the evening of July 3rd.  I sat, alone, not only in the hotel's lounge, but also in the city of Saskatoon.  It was probably safe to say that I didn't know a single person within a 300 km radius.  Some might find this awkward - to travel alone, to be alone in a strange city - but I've always been kind of fond of it.  Not for excessive stretches of time, mind you, just every now and then.

There's just something about doing things at your own pace.  Not having to consider, even for a moment, what another person is thinking or how they are feeling.  There is no discussion about where to eat, how to pass the down time or whether or not everyone is enjoying themselves.  There's no one else to blame for a poor decision, and no worrying that you are being blamed if the poor decision was yours.  It's very liberating.  But it is most certainly not for everyone.

My current situation was proof of that.  Riding alone on a highway was no big deal to me.  Nor was attending the concert by myself.  But in this moment, trying to enjoy a drink, alone, in a mostly-empty hotel lounge, I was suddenly very aware of my solidarity.  Some people would never eat at a restaurant alone, or watch a movie in a theatre alone.  They think that doing such things by one's self is sad, and that the people that do, deserve their pity.  I've never had a problem with it, personally.  Most things are decidedly more fun shared in the company of others, sure, but I've never worried too much about the stigma of doing something on my own, either.

This was different.  This was a social situation, and I was doing it quite anti-socially.  I was not chatting with the bartender; I was not trying to engage with what little other patronage occupied the place; I was simply sitting at a table, and having a beer.  Despite my discomfort with the situation, I still felt even more silly sitting up in my room, flipping through channels on the television.  This was a mini-vacation, and I could do that at home. 

That may seem like reason enough for me to be down in the lounge, but, if I'm honest, that's not why I was there.  You see, I don't really believe in random luck.  Winning the lottery is the very definition of luck, sure, but true luck would be winning the lottery without ever having bought a ticket.  So, although I don't play the lottery, or really even agree with it (and the false-hope that it gives to poor, stupid and lazy people), I still believe, that by buying a ticket, you have had a slight hand in making your own luck.  However misguided it might be.

On this particular night, my definition of luck would be for something exciting to happen.  The concert had been great, as always, but the night was still young, and I was not ready for it to end.  I didn't know what I was hoping for, exactly, all I knew was that had I been sitting up in my room watching tv, the chances for something exciting to happen would have been next to none.  And, although this lounge didn't seem to be much better at this particular moment, it still had potential.  That's when I looked up from my half-empty glass of beer, and saw the tiny frame of none other than Sara Quin making her way across the hotel lobby.

If some people don't understand how I can travel by myself, then you had better believe that even more people don't understand my love for Tegan and Sara.  In this case, I had seemingly rode all the way to Saskatoon just to see them in concert, which, on it's own, does sound a little excessive.  And, admittedly, without the Tegan and Sara concert to attend, I would not have been in Saskatoon at that very moment.  But that alone was not the sole reason that I had gone.  Truthfully, I had been looking for a small trip that I could take on my motorcycle that summer, and the concert just happened to make a perfect destination.  Without the concert I would not have gone on the bike trip, sure, but without the bike trip I would not have gone to the concert either.

Of course, that might not have been the case, had I known I might have the chance to meet Sara Quin.  Which, all of sudden, I did.

I'd like to say that the story ended happily ever after.  That Sara spotted a lone patron in the lounge and, on a whim, decided to befriend him.  But this was not the case.  Seemingly intent on her goal - the lobby elevator - she strode with purpose towards it, and away from me.  It was in that moment that I needed to make a quick decision.  I could spring up from my table, vault over the lounge railing, make the staff think I was skipping out on my bill, and sprint half way across the room in hopes that I might make it to the elevator at the same time as she did; or I could do what I actually ended up doing.

Nothing at all.

I stayed where I was, finished my beer, and wallowed in my own cowardice.  Luck had presented itself to me that night, but I had not seized it.  Instead, I accepted that my chance for excitement had been squandered, and the evening had passed me by.  Perhaps my time would have been better spent up in my room, watching tv, after all.  All I could do was try to convince myself that the acrobatic display that would have been required to make mine and Sara's paths cross, likely would have freaked her out far more than it would have created the foundation of a lasting friendship. 

Besides, I knew I would have another chance to meet her in the following days, but that my friends, is a story for another day…
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