COUCH SURFER

Yesterday when I came home from work, my neighbour called out my name from the balcony. I had only been home from work for a couple of minutes; I was sitting on the arm of my couch, shirtless and smoking.
“I got broken into last night,” she said. “Did you hear anything?”
I looked at her shattered sliding door. It looked lethal; like someone had had a riot.
“No,” I said, in disbelief. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
It was unnerving that someone had done that right next to my sleeping head. I had been up until about ten, closing my sliding glass doors shortly before then, and as an after thought, closed my blinds. I couldn’t help but wonder if the perpetrators had looked into my apartment to see if anyone was there. It sent shivers down my spine.
I called Dirk who was doing volunteer work. I told him what had gone down and said I needed a beer. I hadn’t had a drink since Saturday and was enjoying the sobriety, but really wanted a beer to calm my nerves.
Ollie was at the bar. “They’ve got cops on the roof of the building behind The Shop. They’re doing surveillance work on the alley. I had to call Upchuck and warn him not to smoke his joints out there so he doesn’t get busted.”
Upchuck showed up not long after. “Everyone has been warning me about the under cover cops on the roof,” he said. “My reputation must precede me.”
Ollie was joined by this Young Turk who was all over him. I just assumed he was some guy he had started dating from the way they were hanging off of each other. They disappeared into the smoking room together, leaving Dirk and I alone with Upchuck. When Ollie returned, he said goodbye to his fling and said, “We’re going to smoke a joint.”
“Where? In the alley?” I asked.
“No. At my place. Upchuck is coming with me.”
“I want to smoke a joint!”
“Come join us.”
“I can’t. Dirk’s bike is at my place and he’s going to work.”
“Call me later.”
The mere mention of the word “joint” had me distracted. I felt bad for Dirk, like I was cheating on him with dope. I downed my beer and we went back to my place to pick up his bike and sent him off to work. As soon as he was gone, I called Ollie to see if he and Upchuck were still partying.
“Come on over,” he said.
Ollie and Upchuck were chilling out in front of “Legally Blonde 2” when I got there. Ollie rolled me a joint and I poured myself a glass of homemade wine. We were having a good time, catching up, watching the movie when there was a knock on the door. It was Houston, Ollie’s fling.
“You’re a hot fucking man,” Houston said to Upchuck from Ollie’s arms.
“This guy moves pretty fast,” I thought.
Ollie didn’t seem to mind though. Houston didn’t let up. Even with his hand on Ollie’s leg, he kept hitting on Upchuck. It was uncomfortable but funny. Every other word out of his mouth was “Fuckin,” like someone from Surrey. Jean-Claude Van Damme came up in conversation and Houston said he had met him or seen him on the street or something.
“I was fuckin nice and everything, but I shoulda fuckin tole him his last two movies sucked.” And then he got really angry. “I should have fuckin tole him what I really fuckin thought,” he said, like Jean-Claude van Damme was the father who had betrayed him, the source of all the misery in his life.
It didn’t take long to figure out Houston was looking for a place to stay. He was high on something, bouncing around, fidgety in complete contrast to our mellow moods. While I was upstairs taking a piss Houston asked Upchuck for five bucks.
“What for?”
“Cause I don’t have any money.”
“I’m not carrying cash,” Upchuck said.
I find it weird that Ollie attracts these couch surfers. He seems to attract them, which is sad, because he’s such a great guy. It’s like there’s a line-up of people waiting to take advantage of him.
Ollie sent Houston packing for the night and Upchuck and I left shortly thereafter for a beer at The Pasture. Houston was sitting in the smoking room; he zoned right in on us. “Was Ollie at home when you left?” he asked.
I kept a zipped lip but Upchuck didn’t hesitate to tell him he was home. Three times he asked if Ollie was at home and three times Upchuck said he was. “I’m gonna drop in on him,” Houston said, and made a beeline for the door. As soon as he was out of sight, I called Ollie to warn him.
We lasted another beer before heading home. My head was spinning and I needed to get some food in me and walk the dog. Upchuck was going on about this guy Svend he met online a couple of weeks ago. They had hung out on the beach a couple of times. Svend just moved here from Paris, he’s supposed to be an investment banker or something – hot body, the whole nine yards. He’s into doctors. “I’m going to call him when I get home to see if he wants to go sea kayaking this weekend.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when who should we bump into but Svend, having coffee with another muscle stud in front of Starbucks. I was too drunk to be chatting with a stranger and just really wanted to go home. Upchuck was right, Svend is built and he was sporting a black eye. He’s obviously putting the Internet to good use and making the rounds with all the boys. I wish I were that popular. Svend was going on about his mother in North Van who was so excited that he was going to be home for dinner six nights in a row. “She hasn’t seen this much of me since I moved to Paris.”
After the allotted amount of chatting, Upchuck and I continued our walk home. “What do you think?”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“International Couch Surfer.”
“How do you mean?”
“Three cell phones in three weeks; he’s into doctors; no fixed address; depending on his mother for food. He sounds like a glamorous version of Houston.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“Don’t get me wrong: given the opportunity, I would fuck him.”
I sometimes wish I were an International Couch Sitter – getting by on my sexual prowess and steroids. It sounds like quite the life. Why I try and take the moral high ground and actually make a living is beyond me; it doesn’t seem to take much, just a good body and anyone can have that. I would gladly sacrifice my job so I could work out. Flirting is the new “Stylist,” you can actually make a decent living at it if you try.


GarpinBC