Puffer Fish Clothing...

This was originally a post for the blogoff.  However, I decided I disliked it as an entry, and so pushed it back for later in the week.  However, it still has some merit, and it is (after all) a true story.  So, here it is, in all of its glory.  Without further ado, allow me to present...

Dave vs. The Drunken Indian Native

When outsiders are exposed to Victoria, it is usually in the form of well-planned tourism videos. But it also has something of a seedy underbelly that surprises first-time visitors.  As my friend Kittens remarked during one of her trips - "Holy crap... I've never seen a person doing crack until tonight!". 

(He was a nice crackhead, by the way.  He waved at us and everything, and his shirt was from Old Navy, so at least he kept on top of things, fashion-wise.  And I'm pretty sure he was smoking designer crack.  So it's not all bad.)

See, my hometown is a combination of lovely tourists and happy times juxtaposed with drug dealers and crime.  It's like Miami, only with no latinos and social medicare.  And strange things can happen in such a place.  Events happen here that, on a most basic level, happen everywhere - but Victoria always lends a special character to the oddness.  I figure I'll just present a snapshot of the Victoria experience, and let you - the reader - make your own decision. 

Enter the drunken indian.  Oh, wait, I'm sorry.  Drunken Native.  I didn't mean to offend.

This lovely little fellow was doing his best to remain standing with his friends, maintaining all his concentration to keep on both feet and only barely succeeding.  He was lurching around, doing awkward pirouettes in place while his considerably more sober friends discussed the band of the month.  His whole crew were well-dressed in R&B "Puffer-Fish" clothes - over-sized attire designed to make someone look larger than they actually are.  I was with my friend Squee when I walked by, only to be approached by the drunken indian... er, native. 

"Hey!  Hey, you!"  He said, lurching towards us, expensive ghetto clothes flapping like a sail in the sea breeze.

He quickly started demanding we give him smokes.  Of course, neither of us smoked, so he switched to "well, wanna buy some weed?" which, really, is how people seem to say "hello" in Victoria.  Seriously - when the vice president of the United States visited Canada last week and met our lovely Premier, the first thing Mr. Campbell (aka "Douchie McGee") said to him was the customary "hey, wanna buy some weed?". 

Mr. Biden, fluent in all cultures, responded with the traditional "Nah, 'scool, I grow my own."

Anyways, drunken indian native.  He was still craving tobacco, and we didn't want to buy weed off him, so this was his cue to fight us.  And, natch, he focused on me, because I was the smaller of the two.  And I, being the smartass that I am, made fun of him.  Which mostly went over his head, and even his over-sized ball cap. 

"Fug you!  I gots, I gots backup!  I'll kick... I'll kick... your ass!  I gots backup!" he repeated, like a mantra. 

His friends, of course, kept saying "Dude, you don't have backup.  If you pick a fight with these guys, they'll kick your ass, and we won't do a thing."  And they kept apologizing to Squee and I, all the while laughing at their drunk-ass friend.  Because that's what boys do, ladies and gents.  Laugh when their friends make idiots of themselves.

Eventually, I was pushed me a little too hard, and I pushed back - just enough to get the drunk out of my face, because I didnt' want to hurt the guy (he was harmless, just a little riled up from the firewater).  Of course, that little push was enough to knock him square on his butt.  Infuriated, he got to his feet, fists in the air, ready to fight... and then looked for his "Backup".

Who were walking down the street without him.

"Uh... sorry".  He said to us, gave us a figurative tip of the hat, and then went off after them.  "Guys, wait up!"

Later on, he met up with us again, vaguely remembered who we were, and sheepishly apologized.  He gave a friend of mine free weed, and we wound up buying the drunken indian native smokes.  And then we complained about tourists, the government, and (of course) hockey. 

How is it a Victoria moment?  A posse of white, native, and asian teens who were pretending they were black got drunk and picked a fight with random people on the street.  Marijuana was offered as a trade for tobacco because it is cheaper here, and people walked by without raising an eyebrow.  And then the thing was resolved relatively peacefully, and in the end both parties settled their differences in true Canadian fashion.  Upper middle class kids strutted around in a poor part of town with absolutely no fear.  And, um... something about maple syrup and orca whales.