Quebec (part 3)

Now we stood accused of alcohol consumption. All the guys were scared speechless due to the screaming accusations being hurled around the room by the teachers. I finally stood up and proclaimed the empty beer bottles were not ours and that they must have been left from the rooms' previous occupants. They didn't buy it, as housecleaning had prepared the rooms between guests. I commented on how this could have easily been overlooked by half ass cleaners in such a shit box of a hotel. They still didn't buy it.

None of my "roomies" we're backing me up either, they all just stood around frozen like deer in headlights. At this point in my life I had never been drunk before, hell I hadn't even drank ONE beer yet, asides from the sips my dad gave me as a kid. I was NOT going down for this and wasn't going to let my friends go down for it either, as we were all innocent. As my frustration grew so did my anger and my volume. I suggested that the teachers themselves planted the evidence since we had witnessed them stumbling back to their rooms drunk on a nightly basis. That was it, they went ballistic.

The two phys ed teachers got up in my grill like angered drill sergeants. I basically challenged them both to a fight. I was begging for one of them to hit me. I don't know if it was my conviction or my brass balls, but they all left the room without further conflict. For the rest of the trip I was kept on a very short leash. When we went on an outing I had a teacher attached to my hip. We went to a dance on a cruise ship and my roomies and I were forced to sit out on the sidelines on benches. Every once in awhile the teachers would come by asking if we'd learned our lesson. The guys quickly kissed ass so they could finally go mingle. I proceeded to be belligerent each time, as I was not going to bow down and admit defeat for a crime I didn't commit. I spent nearly the entire night sitting on that bench even though I was longing to meet some hottie to slow dance with.

On one of, or maybe even our last day there, we were given the freedom to explore the city and shop. As fun as this was the language barrier made it difficult, as the majority of people in Quebec spoke French. Trying to order lunch at McDonalds that day was a task in itself. I wandered the streets in search of English speaking folk, my only question being "is there a head shop around here?" After hours of endless searching I finally found someone local who spoke English AND knew the whereabouts of a head shop. Our time was running out so I ran off to find the place.

Once I got there I was in heavy metal bliss. There was all kinds of cool swag I had never seen at any flea market in Brampton. I quickly found some arm studs and leather wristbands unlike any I had previously owned. I wanted to get a kick-ass shirt but everything was quite typical, AC/DC, Maiden, Priest, Ozzy, etc. With the clock ticking I rummaged through racks of shirts until one caught my eye....Exciter, "Long Live The Loud".....jackpot! I made my purchases and ran blocks and blocks back to meet up with my friends who were too scared to venture off as far as I did into the "forbidden zone".

I had finally gotten what I had been looking for the entire trip. Overcome  with a feeling of satisfaction,  I was ready to go home. Quebec had finally proved itself useful and had dealt me a winning hand after a week of hard luck.