Dinner for One Part 8

Well, I know its been a while, but it took some time to sort this one out. Stuff went on in my life, stuff that is starting to resolve itself, so now its time to move on and continue my tale.

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I began my journey on a rainy June day. I had been given cheques for hotel rooms, pre-paid cards for fuel and the instructions to call the “Consultant” when I got to Grande Prairie. I thought it was all set, all I had to do was drive the 8.5 hours to Grande Prairie, settle into a hotel room and I’d be all set. Little did I know what the world had in store for me.

I had never driven this far by myself, it introduced a strange sense of freedom into my life. Thousands of miles of open road with me behind the wheel. Sitting in that drivers seat, I thought I had a course plotted for the rest of my life. Everything was unfolding like a roadmap, my hopes, my dreams and my desires. I was finally on the clock, so to speak, I was making money, I was starting a rewarding career in Emergency Medical Services, and this highway was just the beginning.

That highway was just the beginning, and the roadmap didn’t warn me about all the hazards along the way. The first challenge I met was finding a hotel room in Grande Prairie. Not only were most hotels booked, but none would take a cheque. I was preparing to sleep in my truck, it couldn’t be that bad, I thought. I decided to call the consultant and figure out where I had to be, so I could find somewhere close to pull off and sleep. “Meet me at the campground 6km west of Rycroft at 6am tomorrow” he said with a grizzled drawl. I asked at the gas station about directions and driving time to Rycroft. “Oh, its about an hour northwest, ya know, towards Dawson creek there”, he said while he rung in my soft drink and fuel. I didn’t envy the idea of getting up at 5am, nor did I like the thought of having to factor in time to get lost. I decided to make my way to Rycroft that night, maybe I could find a room there.

Getting to Rycroft from Grande Prairie isn’t all that hard, I learned, nor is it an hour journey, but I figured every moment of my sleep was valuable so it was worth it in the end. I drove by a nice looking motor inn on the way through Rycroft, the first time, but they were full, the desk clerk kindly suggested the “Rycroft Hotel” in the bustling downtown. The downtown bustled, complete with tumbleweed, a couple of stray dogs and a poor soul staggering home from the bar, professing to whoever was around that he wasn’t drunk, he was just tired. I followed the trail of beer that he had dribbled from the bar at the hotel, and I managed to get a room. For only $47, I received the key to a suite, 2 queen sized beds in the main room with a second bedroom, a balcony and a major cockroach problem.

The room seemed to be foreboding the trials that lay ahead of me in my journey to manhood, enlightenment and/or the pursuit of happiness. The room was dark, the carpet used to be shag, but now it was more shamble. I couldn’t tell you the colour, I really don’t think it had any original colour left. I chose the bed with the fewest cigarette burns and farthest away from the odour of intercourse and narcotics that seemed to be wafting from a vent. I decided that it would be in my best interest not to use the bathroom here, and to sleep in my coveralls on top of the linens. When I woke up, I pondered a shower, but I figured I’d be best to bathe in bleach at my next port of call.

6am comes early. I met the consultant at his campground and proceeded out to the jobsite with him. I was trapped in a dust trail for nearly half an hour before arriving at a service rig. After a quick briefing, he told me to stick close to the tool push (rig manager) and to just wait to see if I’m needed. Following these directions included sitting in the locker room (the Doghouse) for most of the day, watching a “Frac”. At the time I didn't have a clue what was going on, or what my role in all of it was. All I knew was I saw a lot of trucks, a lot of pipes and a lot of noise.

When it was finished, I made my way to Dawson Creek BC to a hotel room. Checking in took almost an hour because of problems with my reservation, payment methods and anything else conceivable. I finally got my key and wandered off to my hotel room. I dropped my gear off in my room and went to have a few beer in the hotel bar. Drinking was getting to be a fairly common occurrence in my daily routines, but I wasn't drinking much, a few beers, a few whiskey maybe a couple of shots with whoever was in the bar with me.

When I returned to my room, I was slightly buzzed and feeling good. I was working and I was making good money. I thought I was living a dream. I decided to check my e-mail before bed, post a blog entry detailing my first day. When I opened my e-mail my heart sank. It was her, my now ex girlfriend. She said she was done, and I knew why. It wasn't much of a surprise, rather a stern wakeup call from reality. I loved her, and I hurt her. My indiscretions had caught up with me and now I was totally alone.

The gravity of the situation didn't hit me until the next day. I drove to a restaurant for a nice dinner. A flood of emotion hit me silently and secretly when I realized that my life had been reduced to Dinner for One. It was a mediocre burger with undercooked fries, sitting alone at a table. I quietly paid my bill, told the server my meal was fine and went back to the hotel.

I don't know what possessed me to start, but it seemed that the day would go better with a pint of lager. I couldn't have been more wrong. The day seemed to go better with a half dozen beer, more whiskey then I care to remember and a few other concoctions that seemed to get better as the night went on. At the time, I didn't quite understand what this meant, topping off my day with liquor, hoping to “Take the Edge Off”. The rest of the week followed the same pattern, work, eat, drink, sleep, lather, rinse and repeat.

The end of the week came, sometime in July, and the rig was moving out. I was told that I was able to leave, so I returned to the hotel, fetched my belongings and began the long drive home. It was a quiet and rather uneventful return to Calgary, the radio supplemented my internal dialogue. I was thinking about her, about the other girls, the money, the job. I didn't come to any decent conclusion about anything, well, besides realizing I was an idiot.