Granville Island Hates Me

Less than 24 hours after my bike fall at Granville Island (my neck still hurts, incidentally), I had another ill-fated encounter that has led me to the conclusion that Granville Island hates me.

Last night I decided to visit the Granville Island Public Market for breakfast on the way out of town. After bading goodbye to my hosts, I got in my car and made my way down to the waterfront for what should have been about a five minute stop. I even parked in a one hour zone on the pier.

After grabbing a egg and cheese bagel from one vendor and a chocolate glazed doughnut from another, I started patting my pockets while walking toward my car. Something was missing.

Where were my keys?

Oh crap. Of course something like this would happen in a foreign country! And with my darling iPhone inside too, rendering me nearly disabled in the situation!

Now, if you know me well at all, you probably know how common it is for me to lock myself out of my car. That’s why I have a hidden spare! Except I was skeptical about the safety of the neighborhood I was staying in, and thus put my hidden spare inside the car, so it wouldn’t get stolen during my stay. D’oh.

I tried to find either a pay phone or an English speaker that I could understand. When I thought I finally had the latter, turns out I was dead wrong, but at least the Frenchman selling cheese was big-hearted, and helped me find a member of the Granville Island security team.

The Granville Island security guys called a towing company for me, and one particularly nice fellow even stayed outside with me and kept me company while I waited.

We talked about the similarities between Vancouver and Portland. The 2010 Olympics. The self-involved nature of Americans versus the more global awareness of Canadians. The weather. I told him how embarrassed I was about this happening, particularly during what was supposed to be a very short stop before heading back home for the day. My security guard friend even used the word “d’oh!,” despite Canadians being more formal in their speech.

During the long wait, I mentioned how fortunate we were that the weather was once again clear and sunny after some serious early morning showers. Fierce winds were forecasted for the afternoon though, and as we stood talking the winds were already picking up. And imagine, me without my jacket!

When the tow truck guy finally found us on the island, it only took him about five minutes before my door was unlocked and only a few more before I was on my way. The security guard and I wished each other well, and I started the long journey home, over an hour late, with a neck so stiff I could barely look behind me to change lanes on the freeway.

What conclusion would you draw from these two negative incidents happening at the same place, so close together? It seems Granville Island has an evil curse or something. Or, the lesson to be learned once again, is that it is completely wrong to have a car in Vancouver.


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