It’s Taxes Week! It’s that very special time at the end of the year when the Bunny Ears staff frantically cobbles together articles in some way related to all the trips they took in the last 12 months so they can write them off on their taxes. This week, we’re headed to …
Canada is home to plenty of magical things – socialized healthcare, gravy, Justin Trudeau’s butt – and the most magical of all is the Canadians. They’re everywhere, they’re adorable, and they all speak French. [Editor’s note: No, they don’t, that’s a ridiculous stereotype.] Most importantly, they’re one of the last groups of people it’s universally accepted to mock. I made fun of plenty of Canadians on my recent trip to Calgary, Alberta, and these are, in my experience, the best places to do so.
For the maximum number of Canadians per square foot (or “metre,” as they would say), you can’t beat the Calgary Zoo. This place is fucking loaded with Canadians. That means a lot of them will accidentally bump into you, which means they’ll say “sore-y,” and I promise, it never gets old. This is also the number one spot for observing Canadian children in their natural habitat. Even if the children start acting like assholes, just remember that they’re Canadian. Instantly adorable all over again. Also, unless they have been further honored, you will see this. They’re so proud.
And they call them “washrooms.”
Are you ready to see some mounties?! The downtown area is crawling with them, presumably to stop the scourge of neglecting to say “bless you” when somebody sneezes. [Editor’s note: Really?] If you time it right and visit during Pride Week, which they have in September because they’re so pitifully confused about when holidays should be, you’ll feel like you’re in a George Michael video.
Bonus: At Olympic Plaza, I personally witnessed some Canadian youths posing for photos that appeared to be for their boy band album cover. Aww, they think they can succeed in the global entertainment market!
Listen, I’m not here to disparage Tim Horton’s. The coffee I drank and breakfast sandwich thing I ate were delicious A.F. But their entire menu – at least, the one at the airport – was also in French. People, French is an objectively ridiculous language. It sounds ridiculous. It looks ridiculous. Even their numbers are ridiculous, and I’m not even going to get into it; these people worked math into a language as if they thought to themselves, “How could we be more insufferable?” For a good time, order from the Tim Horton’s menu in the labeled French with your best (read: worst) accent. Just tip them well.
I’m gonna level with you. There are little jolly old men in red vests riding around on scooters whose only jobs are to help people around the airport. Information? Directions? A ride to the convenience store where you think your child left her beloved plush avocado named Kiwi and then the desk where said plush avocado ended up 30 minutes before boarding? Whatever your need, this army of leisure-wear Santas is ready to help. It’s the best and most hilariously Canadian thing I’ve ever seen. I’m not kidding about the ride. This man is my personal hero.
I don’t remember his name, but I assume it was Jean-Pierre. Look at me. Look at my face. I would die for Jean-Pierre.
Images: Amanda Mannen