Noon: I join my buddy Joel for lunch on Roncesvalles Ave. The bacon on my BLT is burned, the poutine is seriously over-curded, there are jalapeno poppers mixed in with my chicken wings, and 80 percent of our cupcakes are sloppily iced.
2:15pm: As our server searches for the misplaced payment machine, we overhear two diners planning an art exhibit. When one suggests some kind of naughty Banksy knock-off — “Spanksy” or something like that — the other laughs and exclaims, “Are you high?!?” The reply: “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am high.”
2:30pm: While walking home, I witness the near-collision of three exhausted-looking Uber Eats cyclists and a careening Foodera delivery van.
2:45pm: The dentist office calls to confirm my Oct. 15 cleaning. After clearing that up — oh how we laugh — we eventually come to an agreement that teeth are kind of gross.
4pm: The cable company calls to convince me to upgrade my channel package. We spend the next 19 minutes discussing our favourite Black Mirror episodes.
4:19pm: Inexplicably, the line goes dead. I look at my phone and notice I’ve lost both the cell signal and Wi-Fi connection. Suddenly the power goes out, and seconds later I hear the unmistakable wail of air raid sirens. I run into into the front yard, and stare open-mouthed at the sky as a squadron of Zeppelins blocks out the sun while a flock of heavily-armoured flamingos...
4:20pm: I jolt awake to the sound of the ringing doorbell, check the time, leap from the bathtub and hastily don my housecoat. I'm not expecting a visit from Snoop Dogg, but you never know.
4:22pm: It turns out to be the good people from the Save the Children charity. I donate a few bucks after they stop giggling for long enough to explain that opting not to save even a few children is a "total dick move."
4:45pm: When I ask Google to “play Tragically Hip” — it being the first anniversary of Gord Downie’s passing and all — it plays “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” When I ask it to play the Grateful Dead, it plays “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” Ween? “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” Englebert Humperdink? “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” And so it goes...
4:55pm: I call Google tech support and am put on hold. The music on the line? You guessed it.
5:15pm: How did all these tumbleweeds get into the toaster strudel aisle at the grocery store?
5:30pm: Everyone in the "12 items or less" line is trying to recover their credit-card passwords.
6pm: On my way out of the store I stop to chat with the two off-duty police officers guarding the ice cream. Coincidentally, both are looking forward to the four-week vacations they just booked.