Primer day
I went to the store to get paint, brushes, primer, and all the things I had never used before. Luigi, an Italian from Sicily who works part-time at Home Depot, explained all the steps to me: you clean, you brush, then you prime, wait 24 hours, and then you paint. I think I can do it! I said. He was sure my accent was French, and then he spoke a little more about the Olympics and the weather.
The weather here is so cold.
At the end, at the front door, he asked me how I was going home, and I said walking. Then he started making an speech out loud: “Oh, look at this Brazilian in Canada while all Canadians are complaining!”
I’m not sure if I was happy about the comment, but a few minutes later I dropped one gallon of paint on the sidewalk and got paint all over myself. I kept walking home, stopped to have a coffee to contemplate my good luck. The locker I bought didn’t fit the door, the sheet bag was too small, and I came home with a security tag on my new jeans.
It’s true that last week I worked 55 hours.
I did go back to the store and looked for Luigi, and I didn’t have to say anything—he saw me covered in paint. He asked me to wait while he prepared a new gallon, like a stubborn child in a woman’s body.
He gave me another one without charging me.
Then I went back home. I started with primer, cooked chicken, and my tummy rolls in spirals.