ds_flashfiction | Self-insertion challenge, by Teaphile

Title: Weirder than Canadians
Author: Teaphile
Gen, PG-13, 750 words. Never thought I'd write one of these.

When Fraser came up to me and said, Ray, how would you like to go to Australia, I thought, great, vacation, get a break from winter, maybe try some surfing. And then I said, you paying? Because it's not cheap, flying across the Pacific Ocean like that, and a cop's salary just won't cut it. But he said, of course, Ray, like I should have known that all along, like it was a date and the person who asks pays.

We got on a plane (two planes, actually, one in Chicago and one in Los Angeles) and let me tell you, twenty hours on a plane with Fraser was enough to make me want to jump out and swim home. Keep hydrated, Ray, he'd say, and then, get up and walk around, Ray, (like I wasn't already doing enough of that, just to keep from killing someone), watch this boring-ass Australian aboriginal movie, Ray, and we'll discuss the implications of the director's use of bullshit on the ability of the writer to tell his ass from his elbow afterwards. Finally I put on the stupid-looking sleep mask--there's this whole little package you get, and that's not even including the ice cream; American airlines suck compared to Qantas--and next thing I know, boom, we're landing in Melbourne and it's three-hundred degrees outside. In January.

So then Fraser tells me, sorry, Ray, but this is a working vacation, and we need to find some guy he met once in Moose Factory (of all the dumb town names) to tell him that he had to stop ignoring everyone he knew and come home 'cause his kids were orphans now. Okay, so it was important work, but it still meant no surfing. So now we're wandering around the main drag (not bad, if a lot touristy) looking for the Canadian Consulate to see if they know where he is.

I'm reading the guidebook and snickering over the fact that I'm in a town founded by Batman--and, get this, the museum has a stuffed racehorse and stuffed Antarctic sled dogs on display--when bam! he sees her, the chick in the big brown hat. Much as the idea of watching two big brown hats talking to each other amuses me, I follow him, 'cause God knows where he could run off to if I don't keep an eye on him.

"Pardon me," he's saying as she squints up into the setting sun at him. "Are you by any chance Canadian?" He moves to one side and she stops having to squint.

She smiles suddenly. "Yeah, what gave it away?"

He points at her hat. "Your Tilley. The hemp version of the T5, I believe?"

She rolls her eyes up to look at her hat. "Oh, right. I forgot I was wearing it. Not many people around here recognize it."

"Not even other Canadians?" He's actually proud of himself for knowing, I swear.

"Nah, they say that in the literature, but the only people so far have been Americans. Humming the Hockey Night in Canada theme is more effective for finding Canadians."

"Do you know where we could buy-," and I cut him off right there.

"Fraser, I do not need a big Canadian hat."

"Skin cancer is a very real danger here, Ray. The hole in the ozone layer isn't very far away."

"I don't need a big Australian hat with corks, either."

She laughs and he glances at me, the corners of his mouth turning up a little. "I suggested that as a joke, Ray. Although, the way you've been complaining about the flies today...."

"Not to be rude," I say to the woman, doing my best Turnbull imitation, "but can you tell us where the Canadian Consulate is?"

"Ha!" She barks out, then shakes her head."Theoretically, it's on Collins Street." She points downhill.

"Theoretically?"

"There's a street address, but no sign of an office there. They have a phone number, but every time I call it goes to voice mail, even during standard working hours. I had to get my passport renewed through the embassy in Sydney. If you find it, let me know."

He starts asking her questions and I tune them out and go to watch the guy in the spacesuit setting up sound equipment on the corner. Australians have got some weird ideas about entertainment. He's just starting to do some kind of spacey, reverbing chant when Fraser claps me on the shoulder and says, "Let's eat, Ray. I saw a restaurant advertising kangaroo."

He's gonna make me try it, too.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

green-grrl.livejournal.com

Aha ha ha ha! I love the Ray brain interpretation of Fraser's conversations, like watch this boring-ass Australian aboriginal movie, Ray, and we'll discuss the implications of the director's use of bullshit on the ability of the writer to tell his ass from his elbow afterwards. Hilarious!

(Also? You are adorable!)

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Self-insertion challenge, by Teaphile

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