Nice Dinner in Montreal


Nice Dinner in Montreal
by Shazde Asdola Mirza

It was -20C last night in Montreal, when we sat to our nice dinner, in an upscale Italian restaurant. It’s the sort of place, where the waiters are better dressed than the patrons. So posh and comfy that I even broke me long restraint and had two glasses of red wine … nice Chianti from Piedmont. We were an Iranian, two Egyptians, one Brit, an American and three Canadians. But fine wine knows no boundaries and except for me, everyone was soon drinking up to everyone’s good health, and bursting with fun and laughter.  

It was somewhere between the Bisque and the Antipasto, that the main door opened and in rushed a young and tall fellow - wearing a black T shirt, waving a small object and yelling some obscenities! We all froze and could only watch the young punk as he kept running from side-to-side and screaming … except for our good American guest, of course; who quickly did a duck-and-cover under the table … as any experienced Texas dweller would do.  

Everyone shows their true color under pressure, and my came out black. Later on, I again had to beg and explain to my good wife that unlike her, I am an old fogie - full of stories that need to be told. There is no way that this shit can die with me and occupy the same coffin! The black ink is calling me as much as the pink, Gucci shoes attract her. “But you sink too much time and attention into that freakish website!” she complained. So I had to promise, “Only stories my dear … only stories … and no time and energy on comments and debates.”  

In the US of A, someone would have probably shot that crazy young drug addict, before he could have a chance to possibly shoot out the whole restaurant. But here in Montreal, a burly Garçon simply grabbed the boy by the neck and threw him out. His small object proved to be a shoe-horn! It is so good to live in a country where it takes a year and 20 background checks to buy a handgun … even if it is freezing cold for 6 months of the year!

Needless to say, I again had a bout of heart palpitation and headache, which I fully blame the Piedmont Chianti for the both. But what can I do? Canadian tort law doesn’t cover wine damages.


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more from Shazde Asdola Mirza
Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime

Shazdeh, great to see you back!

by Everybody Loves Somebody ... on

You didn't happen to be in this Italian joint last night!? I thought you would like this!



Shazde Asdola Mirza

dears Divaneh and Faramarz

by Shazde Asdola Mirza on

1. Those Egyptians are Copts, and very afraid of the regime change and what it can do to the minority Christian population.

2. Actually, after that hobo was thrown out, everyone was shaken and sad. Especially that other than being completely nuts (running around in the -20C wearing only a T shirt and howling and screaming) he looked like a fine, handsome and athletic youth. We could only guess that he must have been on some sort of very strong drug.


Welcome back Shazde

by divaneh on

The guy was sent by IC just to get you back in here. I hope you still enjoyed your meal and the rarity wine.


سران فتنه


Shazde Aziz, Welcome Back!

I suspected that you had something to do with the recent protests in Egypt!


"We were an Iranian, two Egyptians, one Brit, an American and three Canadians."


That sounds like "Saraan Fetneh" to me! No wonder the young guy wanted to disrupt your dinner!

hamsade ghadimi

the guy was probably a

by hamsade ghadimi on

the guy was probably a recently unemployed shoe salesman. if you and your wife lived in montreal, he may have been dining next to you. 

Shazde Asdola Mirza

Monda Jan: culture of fear indeed

by Shazde Asdola Mirza on

They ran away from the cities, just to turn them into slums.

They have built gated-communities, just to live in five star prisons.

They demand to have free access to weapons, just to be a perpetual victim in the hands of those who can handle arms.

Sad American story.

Flying Solo

Oh yes

by Flying Solo on

Shazde jaan,

So sorry for taking up so much bandwidth on your blog with seemingly an unrelated matter.  I was trying to say that different nationalities react differently to the unexpected be it in a Montreal bistro or a train station.  And yes - falling is a fascinating subject, but not half as fascinating as women's shoes. Pink Guccis? Surely never.  :)


in the Wild Wild West here,

by Monda on

There'd be slim chance that a waiter could handle a similar situation as delicately as the Canadian server did. And  someone in that restaurant would have panicked and done something stupid to trigger the troubled man into shooting. No shoe horns here, as you know. It is horrific to observe or read about the impact of the gun laws on this civilization! (did you read "The Culture of Fear"?) It's not Only the gun-laws... it's the stressed out, deprived attitude of people, compounded by the grimly limited Healthcare.  

Furthermore Shazdeh jan, I think that if you didn't have the few months of sub-zero temperatures, life would have felt very unfair to some of us here. 

By the way, I am so glad that you get to party And spend quality time with Khanom as well. (Ooohlala she likes pink shoes :o) 

Shazde Asdola Mirza

There is something facinating, dear Solo, about falling.

by Shazde Asdola Mirza on

After the Fall (read Arthur Miller's?) we suddenly realize how tentative and precious it is, to stand.

Bad Stories for Bad Kids

Flying Solo

Enjoyed It

by Flying Solo on

Shazde jaan,

I enjoyed your story. In the most bizarre manner by which text can trigger memories, I was reminded of an event that has stayed with me for a long time.

At one point in my youth I found myself in the train station in the city of Bern.  I was backpacking through Europe and was looking to board the next train to Germany. While staring at the giant bulletin board overhead showing the passengers the timetable,  somebody ran into me from behind. The force of the collision just about knocked me over. Once I regained balance, I noticed the accomplice had not only not fallen over, but was staggering ahead, to the left and to the right, before she collapsed on the ground in a heap (paksh zamin shod). Her purse and umbrella fllew to one side and her suitcase to the other. She looked sick - a beautiful young woman save for deep dark circles under her eyes and thin quivering lips.

Against my better judgement (says the old me), I approached her while everyone walked around her, making sure to keep their distance from the mess on the ground.  Should I touch her, I thought? Should I pick her up?  When she didn't respond to my crazy gibberish in English, French or Farsi, I decided to try the only universal word that I could think of. At the top of my lungs I yelled "DOKTOR" repeatedly.

Now people were really giving us a wide berth. Eventually some uniformed folk arrived.  When I could not respond to their queries in German, they simply ignored me and packed her off on a makeshift cot and took her away.  It was an incredible experience for me - Nobody stopped, nobody looked, nobody cared. And then she was gone. 

Soon after my train arrived and I made my way to the platform.

The image of that woman is etched in my brain.  I don't know why. I have certainly witnessed far worse incidents the details of which have long since left me. Yet this one - it's still there. 

I could pick her out of a crowd of blue eyed blonds. I could draw a picture of her if I knew how to draw and I could write about the anguish I witnessed on her face those few minutes our paths crossed in that dreaded train station. And I could probably write pages about the indifference and the cold and callous manner that passes as 'civility' in, ironically, one of the most civilized countries in the world.  C'est tout.