![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
While listening to CBC radio today, I overheard an extremely unskeptical interview with a New Brunswick woman writing a book on out-of-body experiences. After the interviewee shared a real whopper told to her by a woman with extensive brain damage, the interviewer asked her, "And you believe this?"
"Of course," she said, earnestly. "I believe everything everyone tells me."
I think this says an awful lot about the degree of critical thinking taught in the NB school system. Yeesh.
Oh yes, before I forget, I'd like to share with you the sequel to my experience at Nefertiti in Montréal. Nefertiti is a little café/boutique/smoke shop, or, I think it is, at the very least. When you walk by it on Rue St. Catherine, you can hear dancey Middle Eastern music coming from outdoor speakers. The windows are filled with hookah pipes and belly dance accessories. It is therefore exactly the kind of shop I am attracted to.
However, this shop is run by an astonishingly nasty man. My last experience with this goon and his shop was about six years ago. I'd forgotten all about it until my last visit to Montréal. I was walking with f00 when I saw it. "Watch this," I said.
"Watch what?" he asked.
"Customer service at its very finest."
I scooted into the shop before the white-robed and glowering proprietor had a chance to bar my way. At the back of the narrow store, I could see a couple of men smoking hookah. Maybe they're Egyptian mafia, or the reincarnated mummies of pharoahs past. I smiled at the evil shopkeeper and said "Hi!", but his already black expression only darkened into something positively light-sucking. He strode toward me with murder in his eyes. f00 stood there, confused, as the Egyptian mafia's snarling henchman herded me out of the shop. He didn't say a single word.
Rather than risk being gutted with a machete or torn down by heavy machine gun fire, I let him chase me out of the shop.
"What was that?" asked a flabbergasted f00.
"That was the Nefertiti Nazi. Don't mess with him. He'll kill you before he'd ever sell you anything."
Are you from Montréal? If so, can you explain what on earth is with this mysterious man and his shop? I've seen him chase other people away, too, so it isn't just me.
"Of course," she said, earnestly. "I believe everything everyone tells me."
I think this says an awful lot about the degree of critical thinking taught in the NB school system. Yeesh.
Oh yes, before I forget, I'd like to share with you the sequel to my experience at Nefertiti in Montréal. Nefertiti is a little café/boutique/smoke shop, or, I think it is, at the very least. When you walk by it on Rue St. Catherine, you can hear dancey Middle Eastern music coming from outdoor speakers. The windows are filled with hookah pipes and belly dance accessories. It is therefore exactly the kind of shop I am attracted to.
However, this shop is run by an astonishingly nasty man. My last experience with this goon and his shop was about six years ago. I'd forgotten all about it until my last visit to Montréal. I was walking with f00 when I saw it. "Watch this," I said.
"Watch what?" he asked.
"Customer service at its very finest."
I scooted into the shop before the white-robed and glowering proprietor had a chance to bar my way. At the back of the narrow store, I could see a couple of men smoking hookah. Maybe they're Egyptian mafia, or the reincarnated mummies of pharoahs past. I smiled at the evil shopkeeper and said "Hi!", but his already black expression only darkened into something positively light-sucking. He strode toward me with murder in his eyes. f00 stood there, confused, as the Egyptian mafia's snarling henchman herded me out of the shop. He didn't say a single word.
Rather than risk being gutted with a machete or torn down by heavy machine gun fire, I let him chase me out of the shop.
"What was that?" asked a flabbergasted f00.
"That was the Nefertiti Nazi. Don't mess with him. He'll kill you before he'd ever sell you anything."
Are you from Montréal? If so, can you explain what on earth is with this mysterious man and his shop? I've seen him chase other people away, too, so it isn't just me.
