(I recently moved to Canada from the UK and am still adjusting to some Canadian quirks.)

Me: “[Coworker], where’s the manager? A guest wants a refund.”

Coworker: “He’s in [Popular Electronic Store] watching the Stanley Cup playoffs.”

Me: “So watching the playoffs is more important than doing his job?”

Coworker: “Welcome to Canada!”

I am a huge fan of the Montreal Canadiens and decided to make the journey to Montreal from where I live in Nova Scotia. Friends that I have aren’t really big into hockey so I, a female, take the trip to the games by myself. My first solo travel. My family are all generally pretty worried as I have a terrible sense of direction and are positive I’ll get lost and they’ll never hear from me again.

For the first two days I am fine; I don’t even use my GPS. I just wander the streets of Montreal and attend a game in the afternoon and check out restaurants, cafes, and bars at night with no issues. Before heading to the game against the Edmonton Oilers on Sunday I go out for breakfast and figure I’ll wander around the city for a bit before the game, but get in early so I can have a proper look around the Bell Centre without too many people there.

When I get to the Bell Centre I see people lined up and join them in the line, because I assume it is how to get in. It is just a different spot than I went in the day before. I start chatting with the people in the line up behind me and they have traveled as a family from NB to see the games. We finally get to the front of the line and I realize it is a restaurant. I have zero intention of going to eat again as I had just come from breakfast but don’t want the people I am in line with knowing that I am in the completely the wrong place, so I was going to have a drink and then go into the arena. This family doesn’t want me sitting alone so they invite me to sit with them. It is fantastic just talking to new people, sharing our love of the game. I must have not been paying attention when the waitress comes around asking how to split the bills because my bill was fully taken care of by this family.

It may not have been much to them, or they might not have even thought of it, but to me it was my favorite moment of my trip. I love the Canadiens, and watched some of the greatest players in the NHL today that weekend (Ovhekin/McDavid) but having this family take me in like I was one of their own will stay with me longer than those games will.

I took Karate classes in elementary school. One time when I was around 10, I was sparring with a younger classmate. I threw a punch, which stopped a hair’s breadth away from his nose. I could feel his breath on my knuckles and we froze for a moment, both of us staring wide-eyed at my fist. My Sensei ended the round, awarded me the point, and complimented me on my excellent use of control.

I was too embarrassed to admit that control had nothing to do with it. My arm was fully extended; if I’d had a longer arm or been standing an inch closer, he would have had a broken nose, and I would have been doing push-ups for weeks.

(My mechanic is fellow student in my karate class. When I see him badly injured from a dirt biking accident when getting my car checked on, I tell him that I’ll be telling our Sensei that he won’t be able to come in for a while. At the beginning of the next class this exchange happens.)

Me: “[Mechanic] is injured so he won’t be coming in for a while.”

Sensei: “Is he limping?”

Me: “A little.”

(At the time I thought that was a good answer, but end of class the mechanic came in and our Sensei saw that I may have accidentally understated how injured he was.)

Sensei: “LIMPING A LITTLE?!”

Me: *having an awkward “Oh crap” moment* “The crutches really help with the limping.”

Sensei: “And you didn’t mention the broken arm or leg!”

Me: “I knew it was one or the other and I didn’t want to be wrong.”

(And that’s how I learned that “limping a little” is not a good way to describe an injury that requires crutches and that it’s better to be wrong about broken limbs than to not mention them at all.)

(I teach three- and four-year-olds basic karate skills two times a week. I’m currently working with my youngest student ever, just barely three. He’s usually a very good listener, however, and advanced for his age. I’ve just knelt down to help him with his footwork. He has beautiful dark skin, where I am light skinned. This hasn’t been brought up before.)

Me: “No, sweetie, I want you to make your foot flat. Here, grab my shoulder. I’ll help you balance.” *I place his hand on my shoulder and reach for his leg*

Kid: “I like your face.” *pets my cheek*

Me: “Thank you, dear. Your foot—”

Kid: *pets my cheek more* “I like your face. And your nose.”

Me: “Thank you. Pick up your leg, dear. Just like that. Now, I want you to—”

Kid: *petting me more* “I like your skin.”

(We did eventually get his feet correct for the kick.)