“Yikes, just yikes!”
Robb repeats this a lot in his memoir, and with good reason. From Long Island to the wilds (?) of Canada–okay, somewhere north of Toronto–we are treated to the length and depth and breadth of his sardonic humor. No one escapes his barbs–from the person who sold him his bus ticket (who is described as smelling of wet potatoes and whose gender is in question) to the flirty receptionist in a massage parlor in Toronto (who used the word “seriously” way too many times, and wound up on his “to be avoided” list).
Our friend Robblogger is escaping a dangerously failed relationship. On the bus, he is saved (his word) from being sat next to by a very large man (yes, large people get their abuse, too, in this book) by “Gertrude”, Robb’s name for her. She is on the run from a dangerous relationship that should have failed a very long time ago.
This is their story. Well, Robb’s story and perceptions. From what he writes, Gertrude is supposed to come up with her own version. Whether she does, or did, is not known from reading “Strangers”. What we do know is that he makes Gertrude’s ride a lot more fun than if she had had to sit and stare out the window the whole long way.
No group escapes Robb’s sardonic wit. Religious groups, large people, foreigners, waitresses, you name it.
He reminds me of my cat. One moment she is using the newly-planted vegetable garden as a litter box, and the next she is rolling on the pavement, looking at me upside-down and being sooooo cute. Robb’s writing is the same way. You get insulted, and are about to toss the book away in indignation, but then he writes something sooooo cute and soooo deep and soooo sweet that you say, “Awwwww!” and continue on.
Crude? In many places.
Hilarious? Oh, yes.
I wish I could have been sitting behind him on that bus…