When I work late, I run into our office cleaning lady. I look forward to these encounters. Despite initial communication problems, we've learned that we speak the common language of BC Lions and Vancouver Canucks, and we've done just fine since then. This woman is hilarious. If you took my mother's dedication to the CFL, Lucky's loyalty to the Canucks, and threw that in the blender with a strange red dye job and an unidentifiable but kind of south asian accent, you'd get her. Or maybe she's actually spanish. I don't know.
At least once a week, I can count on a conversation through the stall door in the bathroom while she wipes down the counters, and I take care of my own business, if you will. I don't understand everything she says, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't get all of my responses, but we share "Geroy," and "Buck Pierce," and we lots of headshaking mutters about Mats Sundin. She never fails to crack up when I tell her that we just need to get the coaches on the phone and tell them how it should be.
Tonight, on my way out, I ran into her in the hall where she just might have been waiting for me. She was almost too excited to speak, but through a series of gestures at the radio that is always strapped to her cart, and eyes wide with anticipation, she let me know that she was very excited about tonight's season opener for the Canucks. She asked if I was going to watch the game, and I said "Of course!" not telling her that I would miss part of it for yoga. I want to stay on good terms with her. She's small, but fierce. In fact, her fierceness came out when I told her with mock indignation that Lucky had a ticket to tonight's game but hadn't given it to me. Either the "mock" part was lost in translation, or she didn't care. Eyes wide, head shaking: "Ohhhhh... no. You can't let him come home. He has no home."