I'm back! With a legit story that involves a Quebecois, the first Canadian I ever met.

My town is pretty low key, and rural for the most part. Well, was.

Back in my tweens, the big thing for the town was farmer's day. It was at the end of summer, before school would start back. Why then instead of closer to harvest time? No fucking clue. What I do know is that it was the event of the year. There would be bands playing, people selling stuff they made, games and such, and plenty of dancing.

One of those years, I'm too fucking old to remember exactly how old I was, it was a sweaty southern summer. Nineties during the day, both temp and humidity. So the refreshment stands were booming.

The far end of the street held this little stand trying to sell these frozen fruit thingies. This was a product nobody was familiar with. So it wasn't selling as well as regular ice cream, snocones, and beverages. So the guy running it with his wife snagged some of the kids fucking around wishing we had more money and gave us free samples. This worked!

A bunch of happy kids devouring these things and liking them made the stand popular as parents were dragged back, or came back for their own paid heat relief.

As such, they got busy. So busy one of them had to go back home and fetch more. See, theirs was a brand new endeavor. They were making this stuff at home in the next town over. While the wife did the running home, the guy needed help selling and keeping the gentleman supplied. With beer.

My man kept a cooler full of Coors light of all fucking things, and was not shy about yelling out in his exotic (to me) accent, "' 'ey, (baby samurai real name), grab me another" as I was between handing customers their order from the freezer box, or otherwise playing flunky. Had a case or more in it, and was taking pulls off of one every little bit, non stop.

All that day, and well into the night, my little ass was hustling. Helped his wife unload two different restocks, which was their entire damn supply.

But that entire time, guy was telling stories and actually listening to this rando pre teen dipstick. He had moved down here after marrying a silly American woman foolish enough to brave Quebec with her scanty high school french and lack of fear of the cold. These frozen treats were something his family did for themselves, but he figured it might be something to make some money with.

And holy shit did they! At the end, when they ran out of stuff, the stack of ones and fives was massive. Not just by kid standards. The stack wouldn't even fit in a bank bag (those zippered pouches, not the big sacks in cartoons). They didn't count precisely, but there was at least four hundred in small bills, plus some twenties thrown in the mix.

Then, after we've packed their gear in the back of their truck, homie pulls out the thickest stack of bills I'd ever had and hands it to me. Didn't count it, just hands me a wad of cash and says I'm a good man, go have fun

Fifty eight dollars. Now, looking back, it wasn't exactly a great hourly wage lol. Right around five bucks an hour. But that was a fucking fortune at that age, and a not tiny chunk of what they'd made.

Why this story? Because I had essentially forgotten about it until this. I mean, I remembered it, but hadn't thought about it in at least a decade. But what with the whole nature of this community, and the nature of the thread, it had me thinking about the Canadians I've known in meat space. Not all of those interactions were as delightful as that one. Hell, my mom dated a Canadian guy briefly, and I had to kick his ass at a family gathering.

But overall, that guy from Quebec set my expectations for what "Canadian" means. Funny, generous, took a random kid seriously and treated him with respect. And yeah, fucking nice. Polite to everyone in that strange accent. Even having consumed a fair bit of alcohol, he was just a great dude to spend a day with. And I hate being around drunk people, so that's a very rare thing for me to say.

So, y'all. Me saying a Canadian will drink a nation dry is said with love. It's not some political statement, it's not even trolling (well, the original comment and this one aren't lol). It's me remembering dozens of interactions, mostly fondly, and believing in my heart that we, us humans that happen to live in these two countries are friends by default. That, as time goes on, that friendship will be allowed to bloom again instead of being tested and struggling. I sure fucking hope so.

At trivia, one of the questions was: "what type of alcoholic drink is the kind of which you shouldn't complain about the amount or quality?"

::: spoiler the answer A free drink :::

You do realize that we make plenty of our own booze, right?

But a Canuck can refuse american booze any time, day or night. We just drink our own (edit and any other countries booze except american). Just watch and see what happens when the ban is lifted.