Maritime Elation

How I'm going to miss the Maritimes!

Two days before my first interview for medical school (one day before my flight out), I thought it was time to find something to wear. I'd marked four men's clothing stores I'd found in the yellow pages on a map of Moncton and after my 8:30 class, I set out on the bus.

Tip Top was the only store I knew would actually carry the kind of clothes I was looking for; I chose the others based on their names: Zachary Samuels Men's Clothier and Custom Shirts, Up in Style, and Colin D's Boutique. Zachary Samuels sounded like my best bet so I decided to start there. I passed Up in Style on the way (thinking I might stop there first, depending on what it looked like) but it turned out to be a sk8 shop.

When I arrived at Z.S. the owner (the only staff person there) was helping another client. I told him I needed a suit ready in 24 hours; he sat me down on a leather couch and served me a cappuccino. After a couple of hours of chatting, we had a suit, shirt and tie picked out. The tie and two pairs of socks were on the house.

I had brought my own dark brown dress pleather dress shoes (which were in need of some minor mending) to try on with the “midnight navy” (i.e. practically black) suit but apparently, that simply would not do. I needed black shoes, or perhaps cognac ones. Since I had a choir concert coming up at which I would need black shoes and knew I'd get good use of them, I conceded.

So that I would have my suit on time, he had to take it immediately to the tailor's. He shut the shop and dropped me off at a shoe store on the way. We agreed that I would find my way by to the store the next day around 1 p.m. and he would properly pack my suit (so it wouldn't wrinkle) and take me to the airport from there. There were some great sales at the shoe store and, though I didn't get the same service, I quickly found a nice pair.

Since the next bus back to Sackville wasn't until 8:15 p.m. and it was only 2 p.m. by that time, I decided to get a few more things done. First, I walked over to the Taj Mahal, the famous Indian restaurant in Moncton at which I'd never eaten and I had a late but scrumptious lunch. Before leaving, I asked the waitress if she knew of anywhere where I could get a nice haircut. She suggested a few places and I tried to follow her directions to the most promising place. Not only did I get lost and have to ask a homeless person for directions, but when I got there, it also wasn't quite up to my med-school-interview standard. I started walking in the other direction trying to recall the location of the other shops the waitress had mentioned.

When I found myself all the way into Dieppe, I decided I'd have to settle for whatever I could find in the mall there. It was a tough call: the salon looked pretty classy, but totally focussed on women and esthetics. I took a gamble – and drew the short straw, or so I thought...

Yes, they could give me a cut right away. Right this way. I sat down and a boy with emo hair, no older than 18, came and set me up. I explained my situation to him: I needed something professional enough for my interviews but didn't want to go so short that I would lose my curls. No clippers, we decided. It was the most meticulous haircut I'd ever gotten and, in the end, it was just right.

Next, I took a bus back downtown and looked for a little café where I could spend a couple hours reading as I waited for 8:15 to come. I found The Old Triangle, my favourite Irish pub that was offering two free oysters with a pint of Guinness: how could I resist?

Taking a break from my book on medical ethics, but continuing to shower the couple of oysters in my stomach with Guinness, I unconsciously and longingly stared at the oyster bar; its bartender (the pub's owner) offered me two more on the house. After that, I felt like I had get something else – and I guess I was a little hungry: I ordered a bowl of mussels. A while later, an Acadian couple arrived and sat at the table next to mine.

Perhaps intrigued by my outsider's appearance, they asked me all about what I was doing in Moncton, where I was from, where I learned French, what I wanted to do with my life, etc. They were from Cap Pelé, not far from Sackville and he was a highway supervisor: he was responsible for snow and (especially those past few days) ice removal. He also had a great hankering for some oysters but didn't want any Guinness.

He offered to buy me another pint, but I wasn't feeling up to it. Instead, after much soul-searching about how badly I wanted more oysters, I offered him a coupon for two, which someone had given me on his way out: apparently, that man liked Guinness more than oysters. By then, it was nearing the time for me to get going to the bus station, so I asked for the bill. A moment later, the waiter returned and told me my neighbours were getting the bill for me. I thanked them and we said our goodbyes, committing to keep an eye open for each other.

The bus ride home was uneventful, except perhaps for the realization that this was probably one of the last times in a while that I would be filled with Maritime elation.