My fundamental array of tools were kept consistent: A weighted tumbler as a rolling pin and a dull knife for cookie separation. This time around, I took to toothed depressions along across the surfaces in addition docking the pieces with chopsticks, Lego-style. They were unequivocally as delicious as the variation with expired matcha.
The province imposing recycling deposit fees for all packaged beverages in an attempt to encourage sustainable living (read that carefully: it is merely an attempt and no more) had angered me greatly. For the first few days of my stay, I had left our plastic water bottles in the hotel room. They had been too great of a hassle to lug though about. Since having accumulated quite a number of return-able items over the course of my stay though, efforts to recover the sum were now warranted.
My arrival had coincided with their last hour of operation, for they were slated to close at 5 PM. The lineup was long and traffic was high, yet many people continued to haul bags brimming with empty containers from the asphalt lot.
The lineup moved quickly despite limited staff behind the counter. Constantly heard echoing throughout the space was the shattering of glass, likely from haphazard tosses of returns. These sounds were less frequent at The Beer Store, for sorting compartments were hidden from view in a separate room, dissimilar to OK Bottle Depot's open concept with high ceilings.
The driver actually departed the terminal earlier than scheduled, zipped through the local streets aggressively, then came to a screeching halt just before the Elmbridge Way/Minoru Blvd stop - requested by both myself and a teenager with lash extensions.
In regards to hairwashing frequency, I was shocked to learn that most girls would wash their hair every 2-3 days, with his wife estimating a wash every 5 days to maintain vibrancy in her purple-green do. Washing every other way was less common, he noted, but also advised that one should not be altering their lifestyle strictly for the preservation of hair colour: "You gotta do what you gotta do and hair is just hair!" It was amusing to hear this from the stylist directly, as I am often scolded for lack of upkeep. The service was great and friendly as always, but hearing this humorously human side of conversation made it even more memorable.
Instead of reducing hairwashing frequency, I was simply urged to start using the purple shampoo sooner, ideally every 3-4 washes.
Instead of the luscious curls I had been given on my first day, I departed the salon with a long, straight mane. The coif was styled by a mix of hand- and brush-drying techniques, as opposed to a flat iron. In fact, he advised against using styling tools, as the heat would act as a catalyst for colour fading.
This chatter would pave the way for the summoning of Dirty Fries, which I cannot recall taking part in the consumption of.