If you suddenly snap back into consciousness after an extended leave of absence - some sort of low-level coma, deep drunken slumber or average cheese-dream - and you’re not sure where you are, there’s an easy way to test if you’re in your bed, at home, in Montreal, with this little experiment:
1. Turn on the light and scratch a little bit of paint off any wall in the apartment– enough to reveal the last six coats applied. Among these layers, you may find one (or all!) of the following three colors: royal blue, forest green or bright orange. Here, let me visually assist you.
2. Now scratch a little paint of the opposing wall in the same room. If one of these walls is a second of the three aforementioned shades, you almost certainly - but not definitely -are in Montreal. At this stage it’s still possible that you’ve have stumbled upon the place where jesters go to die or the inside of a parrot’s skull. The determining factor lies in the ceiling so go ahead, climb on up. If beneath its rough-n-tumble, smoke-stained surface (some would describe it as sexy) you find the third and final colour, well then voila: you’re positively in Montreal.
I’ve been thinking long and hard why the entire population of this city at one point or another chose to minimize their five square feet of living space by selecting this singularly vile combination. Is it that nothing says zest (cringe) and vigor (ew) like that particularly obnoxious orange shade of orange? I’ve heard it argued that orange and blue may be complementary colors – in play-dough or freezies – and forest green was tossed in as a rebellious twist. Maybe everyone was just trying to match their entire apartment to that bedspread their boyfriend’s mom picked up from Zellers in grade 9 – I know you know the one (cuz you still have it). Maybe it’s a tribute to the metro line colors? I can't figure it out. I've had way too much vodka.
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