It sure is a stormy one out there today. The good news is though, that it's Friday and for most people, that means two days of rest, fun or getting things done with friends and family. For my celebrity guest, stormy days and weekends tend to be busy for work. I'm very happy to say, however, that although she has a jam packed work schedule and she is on the top of every socialite's list in Nova Scotia, she did find some time to type up a lovely entry for the Scooter Project. I hope you enjoy it even half as much as I did, because that would be a whole lot.
I wish Scooter was still here for many reasons, most of which I'll keep to myself to maintain my street-tough image. Got a problem with that, punk?
Above all else, I miss her jokes. She was the smartest person I met in university, profs included. I write this knowing anyone who dealt with her in an academic capacity would understand what I'm getting at. She even looked smart. I remember watching her organize her binder – dividers, multicoloured tabs and that whole bit – for our first-year intro to business course. When it came time to pick a partner for our first group assignment, I rushed her desk at the front of the room like it was nobody's business. Luckily for me, she wasn't too picky about who she let in her group. She knew she was the muscle, and she was cool with it.
The thing I loved most about Scooter – the kind of Einstein who marched out of an advanced chemistry exam with a smile on her face – was her ability to come down to my level and really dumb shit down for the sake of comedy.
I remember waiting for her to discover that some fabulous prankster had drawn a rather exaggerated sketch of a particularly provocative piece of the male anatomy on the door of her dorm room. I watched that door, likely for an hour at the least, trying so hard to suppress laughter that my face went completely red and I snorted – more than once. As I reflect on this, I recognize that the fact that Scooter gave me the time of day truly speaks to the level of her generosity.
I honestly don't know what I expected her to do when she noticed my artwork – maybe a cold, disapproving stare that morphed into an involuntary smirk. I wasn't around when she stumbled on my masterpiece, but I did receive a short note eventually: “I just noticed that you defaced my door,” she wrote.
She could have told me to grow up - she probably should have - but she just went with it in her own calm, collected way.
Our friendship eventually progressed to the point that she would meet greet me with a, “'Hey Turd, Whatcha up to?'” And she'd offer me this sage pest control advice:
“A... flying ant the size of a baby bird? I feel your pain - I had a bunch of ladybugs flying around my room, so I Lysoled their asses into submission and disposed of them in the trash. That's what you should do...use Lysol. It kills everything.”
Perhaps Scooter was the street-tough one all along.
I must admit this little writeup is a few years too late. It's not that I didn't think Scooter deserved it, I just couldn't bring myself to write it. RIP, my dear friend.
Ashley Thompson Esq
I wish Scooter was still here for many reasons, most of which I'll keep to myself to maintain my street-tough image. Got a problem with that, punk?
Above all else, I miss her jokes. She was the smartest person I met in university, profs included. I write this knowing anyone who dealt with her in an academic capacity would understand what I'm getting at. She even looked smart. I remember watching her organize her binder – dividers, multicoloured tabs and that whole bit – for our first-year intro to business course. When it came time to pick a partner for our first group assignment, I rushed her desk at the front of the room like it was nobody's business. Luckily for me, she wasn't too picky about who she let in her group. She knew she was the muscle, and she was cool with it.
The thing I loved most about Scooter – the kind of Einstein who marched out of an advanced chemistry exam with a smile on her face – was her ability to come down to my level and really dumb shit down for the sake of comedy.
I remember waiting for her to discover that some fabulous prankster had drawn a rather exaggerated sketch of a particularly provocative piece of the male anatomy on the door of her dorm room. I watched that door, likely for an hour at the least, trying so hard to suppress laughter that my face went completely red and I snorted – more than once. As I reflect on this, I recognize that the fact that Scooter gave me the time of day truly speaks to the level of her generosity.
I honestly don't know what I expected her to do when she noticed my artwork – maybe a cold, disapproving stare that morphed into an involuntary smirk. I wasn't around when she stumbled on my masterpiece, but I did receive a short note eventually: “I just noticed that you defaced my door,” she wrote.
She could have told me to grow up - she probably should have - but she just went with it in her own calm, collected way.
Our friendship eventually progressed to the point that she would meet greet me with a, “'Hey Turd, Whatcha up to?'” And she'd offer me this sage pest control advice:
“A... flying ant the size of a baby bird? I feel your pain - I had a bunch of ladybugs flying around my room, so I Lysoled their asses into submission and disposed of them in the trash. That's what you should do...use Lysol. It kills everything.”
Perhaps Scooter was the street-tough one all along.
I must admit this little writeup is a few years too late. It's not that I didn't think Scooter deserved it, I just couldn't bring myself to write it. RIP, my dear friend.
Ashley Thompson Esq