The previous spring, I was back in Toronto for the National Magazine Awards, and I was staying at the Cambridge Suites hotel. Arriving late on my first night, I did what most reasonable people would do: I headed to the hotel bar for a drink. A couple of guys sat at a nearby table in suits and loosened ties; I reflexively took them for the kind of clueless business-class dunces that the Kids made a career of lampooning. As it happened, the Kids in the Hall themselves were in town that night, playing a show at Massey Hall as part of a reunion tour. And they were staying at the Cambridge Suites as well.
Then a funny thing happened: a man walked into a bar.
It was Scott Thompson, in search of a post-show drink.
He sat at the bar and ordered. We had worked together a couple of times, years back, so I said hello and we chatted briefly. He was gracious and funny. He had the ease and glow of someone who’s just finished doing the exact thing in the world that he’s meant to be doing.
One of the suits at the nearby table stood to leave, then paused for a wobbly moment. He was obviously a few drinks in. Everyone knew he was going to say something to Thompson. For a moment, I worried he might make some anti-gay swipe. He approached slowly and said, “I just have to tell you. You guys were fucking hilarious.”
Maybe it’s not needed quite yet, but one day that will serve as a perfect epitaph.
