Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

crazy trip to Portland. I want to talk about what happened yesterday, because that's what's gotten me to
writing here. I'd have told Reg, but I have a hunch he doesn't go in for this kind of stuff.
But first, you have to understand that my life before Jason was dull. Not insignificant, mind you, but not
many kicks either. I grew up in North Van, seven years ahead of Jason. Have I mentioned that I'm seven
years older than he is? At the time of the Delbrook Massacre I was living in Ontario and had just earned
all the papers I needed to be a court stenographer. I was already working part time, in Windsor -a friend
got me a job there. I was always a good typist, but stenography? It works by phonetics, not letters, and
when it's flowing properly, it's as if the things people are telling each other in court are emerging from my
own brain in real time. It's like I'm inventing the world! Other stenographers say the same thing - it's like
catching the perfect wave. And it's funny, because one of the side effects of being a good stenographer is
that you can tell right away when someone's fibbing. Oh yeah: the presiding judge and jury might miss it,
but not this gal. I suppose if you asked me what was the one thing that made me different from all other
people, that might be it - that I'm a living lie detector.
That's how I "met" Jason the first time. On TV back in the 1980s; he was at a press conference just after
he'd been absolved of any wrongdoing. I was homesick in Windsor, watching TV at my place with two
neighbors who were also from Vancouver. We were drinking beer and feeling alienated from the massive
quilt of autumn leaves outside. My neighbors said Jason was lying his ass off, but I said no way, and I
stuck up for him, even back then. Imagine telling the truth about something as gruesome as that massacre,
and having only half the world believe you; I don't think you could ever trust people again. So when I
encountered Jason at the Toys R Us, he looked familiar as well as sad, but at first I couldn't peg why.
But I was going to discuss Friday. It's what started me going on this. I was downtown on my lunch
break from the courthouse. I was in a drugstore getting a few things for this weekend with the kids. My
cell phone battery was dead, so I went to a pay phone and checked my messages, and there was just
one, a woman's voice - nice enough, maybe fiftyish - and she had something to tell me she said was both
unusual and urgent. And then she hung up, no phone number or anything. Well what was I supposed to
make of that? I listened to the message again. She didn't sound evil, and believe me, I've seen and heard
so much evil in the courtroom that by now you could use my blood as an anti-evil vaccine. Who was this
woman, and what exactly was she on about - telemarketing?
If it had been something to do with Jason, I figured she would have used a different voice with a different
tone. Meaning what, Heather? Meaning, this woman didn't sound like the type to deliver ransom
instructions or notify the cops to go looking in the Fraser River for a corpse rolled up in a discount
Persian carpet. I know that voice, and it wasn't hers.
So I spent the rest of the afternoon slightly distracted, trying to pinpoint the nature of her voice, in the
process even making some boo-boos on the court transcript - but it's a dull-as-dishwater property suit,
and the chances of anyone consulting the record are zero. I could sit there pumping out the Girl Guide
Pledge all afternoon, and nobody would ever know. This is both a plus and a minus of my job: my work
is important, and yet it isn't. To be honest, they should just wire everybody up, stuff the room with
cameras and fire me, except that the electronics would cost far more to maintain and service. So my job's
safe for a while yet.
At five o'clock, I made the dash across the bridge and got to Barb's just in time to take charge of the
twins as Barb raced out to the airport. The two boys were ravenous. Dinner became the next thing, and
then they wanted to show me their computer games, which was a snoozer for me, and then I headed
back to the kitchen for a sip of white wine and my first calm moment since the morning.
I phoned and checked my messages. None. So I call-forwarded my number to Barb's and sat at the
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