“Silly season roll out. Dumb concept so it must be worth millions. It’s true.”
“The thief who, just before Christmas, steals two big bottles of “Grey Goose” vodka and nearly gets hisself killed. Drops one. Runs off with the other bottle, right through south bound Cambie Street traffic. Already a lot of jay-walkers just outside there, across that busy little street. Not the first time the thief has struck. Here earlier today, apparently. Here in November too, because I’m sure it’s the same guy. I saw the idiot running, jaywalking across Cambie last month. Exited south entrance, headed directly east across Cambie Street. Last seen heading east, walking quickly on the south side of 40th the other side of the Cambie Street boulevard with that two litre bottle of vodka in his dumb right hand. If any of that makes sense you’re ready for “Silly Season”. That bang sound or loud pound is the thief’s body, or perhaps his leading forehead, hitting the glass and aluminum entry door he’s trying to get out that doesn’t cooperate. It doesn’t open automatically, like it’s supposed to. Because it’s, like, the “In” door, crackhead, not the “Out” door. Welcome to the best time of the year. This is how it was gonna be.”
“But then you think of the poor fool doing the stealing. It must be terribly exciting setting up his booze robbery. Times it exactly for just before closing. You want to catch the guy and give him a whipping or something. You’d like to do something but there’s nothing to do. It’s of no concern. It’s a write-off. The Christmas songs are pouring out of the radio and you’ve caved. You’ve admitted it. You’re laughing in silly season and it’s on. Here it comes, a great big fat white guy. He can’t be all bad. Fuel it with a lot of hard work. alcohol and drugs and enjoy. And steal safe, kids. Don’t go running into “In” doors when you’re trying to get out. Aim for the “Out” door.”
“I’d wondered if it was me who should volunteer to go just outside there and clean up that smashed ‘Grey Goose’ bottle. But we were being let out by the manager ten minutes before the official end of our “shift”. That always means hooray, let’s run. But it seemed anyway the mess was being left for the early morning crew coming in. They’d deal with it. Or graveyard. Anybody else but this shift. “Thanks. Seeya. Good-night.””
“Next time on “Silly Season Roll-Out”. More thieves vandalizing vehicles at your own building! Idiots need Christmas money too!”
“Darktown Silly Roll-Out. No one remembered the rain. That it could. It’s been so dry, but not anymore! Streets paved with rain and jaywalkers. Was that today? Seems a long time ago. Cut cut and cut. And sirens at 12:35 a.m. I like that whooping one. These copper friends of ours are really trying to nail someone right now and I hope they get their prey and I hope some of that pile of dead rats includes some of the rats that broke into our car park last night, smashed windows on five cars and got nothing. This is just the start. What does Silly Season bring? It brings lots of things. It brings the rain. It brings pain. It brings silly attempts at sincerity, and sometimes succeeds. It bleeds. It’s just getting started. And, oh no, you know, I gotta go!”
“I know you guys like to party.”
“‘Oh, yeah.’ It was Raz earlier and he seemed to be dealing with a lot of people he knew, and who knew him. ‘And there’s all this Hindi flying about and you can’t understand nothing, ma’am. May I offer you car service?’ “Punjab,” he says. “But I was born here. Oh yeah, I’ve been back five or six times.” Raz is a hand shaker. He’ll want to shake your hand five times a night. We are all his brothers. He’s hands on.”
“You end up partying because of all the success you haven’t had. That’s Silly Season. Just gotta take a break, you know, from all of the last year, which has been the usual hell. Gotta celebrate and don’t worry, some of the time you’ll feel like it.”
“I was fall-down drunk. I don’t remember any of it. It was silly season, you know?”
“So that’s it. And I’ve been trying to write a song about it, a new, world class Christmas song. Goes something like this…”
“It could be that I’m drinking too much, but I’m too damned drunk to care. She left me. It’s Silly Season roll-out and no one seems to care. I saw you this morning, you were passed out by the fire. The kids were playing hopscotch and I was sitting in the car. It’s Silly Season roll-out and no one seems to care….”
“It’s awful. It needs George Jones, but he dead. It’s think of all the alcohol flowing through all the bodies, the cases and cases and jugs and jars and bottles bottles bottles and the millions of dollars of contents pouring down all those throats and gizzards and guzzling and chuckling and vomiting and coursing through all those veins and capillaries and exiting all those tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands of urethras having done its work and putting paid to all the flowing and going and all of it flushing and washing away, washing away until next time. Until next time.”
“I think it was the bears saved us. The teddy bears on an endless ride buckled in all proper in the back seat of our car in perpetuity that saved our car from getting a window smashed. Cars on either side weren’t so lucky but they had no lucky bears, no lucky rescue teddy bears along for the ride. Ted and Dumper. Ted was a used bear, a gift from a friend. Dumper we found in a trash can, poor little guy. We hauled him out and put him through the wash cycle and he came up sparkling. Little sparkling things in his fur. Dumper saved us. The thief looked in, said ‘Ah, that’s so cute’ and went on to the next vehicle. It’s silly, but explains as well as any other theory, so that’s it. Saved by the bears. Saved by the sparklies.”
“It coulda been great.”
Auf Wiedersehen
“Coulda been great!”
samoyeddogs 
Nice job summing up the light and the dark of it, well mostly the dark of it. Thank Christ for bubble lights!
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Zank you. Not sure that guy had anything to do with the bubblers, but, indirectly, who the devil knows?
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