And how, you may ask, did I find myself in a parking garage at 2am with my wrists taped together being dragged behind a van? Was it the mob? A cadre of mediocre exotic dancers who took my blog posts too seriously?
None of the above. The answer is: I asked Andrew Iwanyk for a ride home.
For those of you who don't know Andrew, well, let's just say he lives in his own reality. He's a combination of eight year old child, Harpo Marx, and Tyler Durden. Things I can count on with Andrew are absurd conversations and surreal situations mixed with the occasional burst of insight. As long as Andrew is around, I will never need peyote.
Andrew is probably one of the only people for whom I actually have a Policy, and my Andrew Iwanyk Policy is this: Know your boundaries, but beyond that, go along with whatever he suggests, because the results will usually be interesting.
The reason I needed a ride home was because the show ran late and I missed my last bus. Normally, I would grab a lift with Lars, but he was having a good time, and I was exhausted, so by sticking around, I would officially become Guy-Who-Is-Just-Hanging-Around-Because-He-Needs-a-Ride-Home...and I hate that guy. I especially hate BEING that guy.
So instead I turned to Andrew.
ME: Hey, Andrew, can I get a lift home?
ANDREW: No. But I have some rollerblades in my van. If you want, I'll tow you.
Hey, you have your boundaries, and I have mine.
So we went out to the parking lot where Andrew taped my wrists together. Then he secured the tape to the back of the van, grabbed some rollerblades from the van and stuck my feet in them.
Did I mention I don't know how to rollerblade?
Andrew got in the van and started the engine.
Maybe I should have been worried. But I didn't think the tape would hold at the van end. And even if it did, the tape was wrapped around my gloves, not my wrist, so I figured I could slip out of them if things got hairy. Plus, when Andrew tied me, I used a trick I read in a Hardy Boys book when I was seven to make sure my bonds were loose, and I kind of wanted to know if it would have worked in real life.
I figured my worst case scenario would be a few scrapes and ripping my pants. Whatever. You are not your fucking khakis.
The red lights went on at the back of the van and Andrew eased forward.
The tape did not break. What it did was, it started to unravel from my wrists.
So I grabbed it, determined to make this thing work.
And it did. I was being pulled along behind the van! Top of the world, ma!
The van continued to move slowly forward, and so did I, rolling in its wake. There was a dicey moment when Andrew turned, since turning and stopping were two things I had neglected to consider when agreeing to this plan.
But I made the turn.
The tape didn't.
When the tape snapped, Andrew braked. Me...not so much.
I continued rolling forward, flailing my tape entangled arms for balance, probably looking like a cross between the bird from The Rescuers and Roller-Mummy. I passed the van on the right (I know, I know) and finally stopped when I collided with the barrier at the edge of the garage.
Andrew drove up next to me.
ANDREW: Well, I did everything I could. I guess you'll have to rollerblade home.
ME: I appreciate you trying, Andrew.
ANDREW: See you tomorrow night, I guess.
I had skated three strides forward, when Andrew beeped his horn.
I skated back.
ME: Did you forget something?
ANDREW: I was just thinking, and I know this is probably more inconvenient for you, but if you're willing, I COULD give you a lift home.
ME: That would be great, Andrew.
After Andrew dropped me off, he insisted I keep the rollerblades, which means he's either a really cool guy, or the rollerblades actually belong to Mike Harrison. Or possibly both.
Life is good.
Andrew Iwanyk and I will both be performing tonight (Sunday, November 25) at The Comic Strip in West Edmonton Mall. Show starts at 8pm.