Back in the early 2000s one of my coworkers approached me with some photographs of her dogs and asked me if I wanted to see her puppies. The surprised look on my face and hesitance to answer made another coworker begin laughing out loud as she realized that I (and her) were wrestling fans and as such took her comment to mean something completely different. When another coworker heard of our exchange she said, "And you probably responded YES YES YES!!" The coworker who laughed passed away a few years later.
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...
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