Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

I saw the wall slam down. I didn't bother pursuing the question, as past experience had taught me the
futility of trying to breach the wall.
Jason said, "Let's go to the parkade."
"What? We just got here. We haven't even returned this shirt."
"We're going."
And so we left.
And for the weeks after that, Jason was jumpy and tossed in his sleep. Maybe there was no connection
to the disappearance. What am I saying? I don't have a clue. But if I ever see that guy again, he's got a
lot of questions coming his way.
Tuesday afternoon 1:30
Back in my little stenography booth looking, to all the world, like the picture of industry.
I listened to Allison's message over lunch hour:
"Oh, hello, uh, Heather, this is Allison. I think you might have been trying to reach me. I couldn't find
your number because it was in the cell phone's memory and the phone was in the car, which died, and so
I've been trying to rustle up some money to get the starter motor fixed, and, well, you know how
complicated things can get ..."
Do I? Do I? Allison, stop feebly toying with the trivialities of your life, accomplishing nothing, pretending
that your tasks are so complex that only God could handle them. Just go fix your effing car, and shut up.
And yes, Allison, I do know how complicated things can get, but they could be bloody well easier if
you'd stop pretending to be a cretinous fake helpless girly-girl about matters that take only ten minutes to
solve.
". . . Anyway, yes, I did have a remarkable statement for you come through last night, and it was for
you, no mistake there. Would you like to get together maybe at the end of the day? I know you work
nine to five. Here's my number, give me a call . . ."
Hag.
As if I didn't know her number. I phoned it and got no response. Lunch hour went by in what seemed to
be three minutes as I dialed it over and over, for a few minutes from the bathroom because I got a bit
dizzy and had to sit in silence. What is it about Allison that has me sitting in public bathroom stalls all the
time?
So now I'm back in the courtroom supposedly documenting this frivolous and endless land deal trial.
These men should all be tarred and feathered and be flogged as they walk naked down the street for
screwing around with the lives of common people the way they do.
Page 108