Wednesday, December 21

When your job is to stand in a subway station for the entire day and hand things out to the commuters that pass, it is not wise to get four hours of sleep the night before due to attending a "finish off the keg from the weekend keg party" party. However, because it's winter holiday I am obligated to make the most of my time at home.

And so if you were one of the thousands of people to pass through Toronto's Union Station today perhaps you would have seen me.

Me, at SEVEN am, in an elf hat (complete with jingle bells and big ears), trying to not reveal how hungover I was, doing promotional sampling for a kids internet company. I totally deserved the title of drunken elf.

During a day of downtown promtional sampling there are two things I can always count on: being hit on by old men and random encounters.

I always assume that there will be dozens of cute, young business men coming through the subway, but this is never the case. There are, however, a whole host of older support workers. And they make a point of walking past me as frequently as possible so we can chat. Today I met Terry, who told me I had the most beautiful smile he had seen in his thirty years of working for the TTC. I was also asked by a security guard if he could whisper secrets in my big elf ears. Uh huh.

(But today was nothing compared to this summer, when I was sampling a men's shaving product and wearing only a towel. "No, you cannot have the towel, sir.")

Running into random aquiantances while sampling is just as awkward. First of all, I always end up absently handing a sample to my friend before we recognize each other. And then we discuss through small talk how I work a part-time job which requires wearing an elf hat while he is in a suit and going to a corporate job.

Even more entertaining: today I bumped into my ex's new girlfriend; a replationship which I haven't been officially told about yet. It was one of those "does she know I know she knows" conversations where we spoke in circles to avoid coming to the inevitable conclusion. Small talk really is an art.