You Work At What?

For one of the few times, it seems that I may have guessed right.  When planning our recent trip to Ontario, I suggested that we should return home right after the June 28th Katy Perry concert that was the impetus for our travel.  It's not as if our family puts off any type of can't miss annual Canada Day celebration that necessitates our attendance, nor is there any Newfie superstition about leaving the island in one month and returning on a different one.  Hey, I kind of like that one.  It sort of falls into the realm of the local taboo about leaving a house by a different door than the one you entered.  Very few peoples can match us for our imagination involving "must do's" and "must not do's".  Now, don't be making any type of funny face because if the wind changes direction you'll be stuck with that look forever.  It just so happens that summer has arrived in eastern Newfoundland.  As I type this I sit on my deck, open to the elements, and I'm not freezing to death or getting soaked to the bone.  I'm even worried that my Bud Light Lime may warm faster than I'm used to.  I'll compensate by drinking it faster.

I wanted to share a few of the jobs I saw people doing in Toronto that caught my interest, but certainly not my fancy.  It made me realize that most people do not have cushy government jobs or wear a business suit to an office from 9 to 5.  Our world functions, for the most part very well, because of people like these.  Firstly, their was the driver of the subway train.  I'll never again complain about working conditions - dark, damp tunnels that all look similar and the profound stale odour of recycled air greet the driver each and every work day.  Stopping every few minutes at platforms, where nameless and faceless people get off and on, yet the driver never gets to interact with any of them.  Hour after hour of going in circles - King Street, Queen Street, and Dundas.  If you are lucky, maybe tomorrow you'll get to go the other way, so it'll be Dundas Street, then Queen and then King.  I've been on the subway when it suddenly stopped in the middle of nowhere.  It's much like being on an elevator, as no one speaks or makes eye contact.  At least they don't add to the misery by piping elevator type music into the tunnels.  After a few minutes, the driver usually informs passengers the reason for the stoppage.  It can be mechanical or non-mechanical.  The first reason is self explanatory.  The second is merely a "nice" way to say that someone jumped from a platform into the path of an oncoming subway train.  The poor driver of that train has become the unwitting accomplice in helping that person kill themselves.  I bet that is not on the job description.  Hopefully, the Toronto Transit Commission has enough sense to provide counselling and give the driver time off to deal with this aspect of the job.

The second job that intrigued me was a guy changing light bulbs on the poles of the QEW Highway.  Perched 80 feet above the ground in a little basket is bad enough, but having thousands of vehicles whizzing by at Indy car speeds is another.  Sure, the flashing yellow lights and a few orange traffic cones are in place to ensure visibility and safety, but get real.  This is Toronto, where each and every driver considers it their devine right to be first.  Speed limits and lane markings are for the other guy and the left shoulder is the personal express lane for anyone late for a tee time or for the pedicure appointment.  That very same left shoulder is where Mr. Light bulb changer toils, so that the drivers of Toronto get to see things more clearly.  I'm just not sure there are enough light bulbs in the world to make that possible.

There was also the window washing platform that I walked by on my way for a feed of Italian, as it rested on the side walk and hugging a Toronto skyscraper.  It's workers were gone home for the day.  As I looked up and up, I saw the ropes connected to the platform extended to the roof, which was probably 40 stories high.  How much would I have to be paid to take on that job?  There's not enough money in the world.

The next time you at a the Toronto airport or any major Canadian airport for that matter, look at just how many limousine taxi's are parked nearby.  There are seas and seas of these black machines parked curbside at the terminals or queued up nearby.  It seems that these drivers would be lucky to average one fare a week.  Why is it that just about allof the drivers are of East Indian descent?  What will happen to these people once Toronto finally connects the subway from downtown to the airport?  Surely they can't all become subway train drivers?  Is there something fantastic about being an airport limousine driver that I'm missing on first blush?

I've had one pretty weird job in my life too.  I searched people's poo for drugs.  Yes, I looked at and in shit to find shit!  The pooing people were drug mules, who tried to import cocaine, heroin or hash into the country by putting it in condoms and then swallowing it.  There are various ways to detect these people.  The ones who die en route, because the condoms broke, are the easy ones to catch.  In any event, we couldn't send the ones who lived to court or to jail until we were certain they no longer "possessed" any more of the drugs.  We had a special toilet that diverted their crap into a glass enclosed compartment, where we used labratory gloves to mush their stools and search for the dope.  This is the very same dope that would have ultimately ended up on our streets and been smoked, swallowed, or snorted by those who really have no idea where this stuff has been.  The first time I played with some guys poo, I must have been a little off because I inadvertently flushed about 10 grams of hash down the drain.  There was a lot more where that came from, so no big deal.

When I tell people that handling human feces was a part of my job when I was a cop in Toronto, I often get some pretty strange responses.  No one has yet to tell me that it sounded very interesting and that they would love to have just such a career that offers that type of diversity in its duties.  Really, I didn't mind that part of the job at all.  It was certainly worse for the guys and girls who were sitting on the throne and sending me their poop.  Perhaps that how the subway driver, light bulb changer, high rise window washer, and limousine driver all look at their jobs.  It's all just a matter of what we're used to.  For me, any of those jobs would be really crappy.

The nicer weather seems to have followed us back to Newfoundland from Ontario.  Thankfully, many of the less desirable big city jobs have not.  Like a Katy Perry concert, such jobs go where lots and lots of people are.  When the oil wells run dry off our coast and in the Newfie mainland bastion of northern Alberta, then we'll know we can always go to Toronto and apply for one of those jobs.  Until that happens, I suspect not too many native Newfoundlanders will be vying to drive a subway train, an airport limousine, a light bulb changing truck, or a window washing platform.  We Newfies may be colourful, but we are not stupid.

Homeward Bound

Our twelve days of pillaging the shops and villages of Ontario, along with successful wrestling the ever present big city opponent known as Road Rage, are about to come to an end.  It was a wonderful trip.  We reconnected with many friends and family and visited many of the stomping grounds that Lynda and me frequented when we lived here.  Memories of good times gone by are sweet to relive and will always stir feelings that everyone should be able to draw upon when a little lift is needed.

But isn't life about making more memories each and every day? About enjoying everything we do and have? About the realization that the most important time of your life is not the past, nor is it going to happen in the future, it is happening this very moment. It is not an easy thing for many of us to do to.  It certainly isn't for me, but I am often able to catch myself reuminating about past events or daydreaming about an imagined future that may or may not happen the way I have imagined it.  As I write these words and think about them, it makes those uses of my time seem that much more of a waste.  I now try to live my life as it is happening.  I'm still not perfect at doing this, but those moments when I am able to park my tendency to over think, a certain calmness comes over me.  I can't believe what I've been missing out on!  This trip was awesome because I was actually all here to experience it.

As much as we all enjoyed this trip, twelve days is enough time away from home for us, no matter where our travels take us.  I think I speak for Lynda, Kendall, and Avery when I say that we miss Grammie, Nanny, James, and Maggie, as well as the rest of the clan.  I hope Jasper will be as happy to see us as we will him.  The same crappy weather that was there when we left awaits our return, but even that'll be okay, for a couple of days anyway.  I look forward to crawling into my own bed tonight, with my familiar pillows and the squeaky frame.  I get to pee on the seat of my own toilet and wipe with the cheap, industrial strength toilet paper we are partial to.  I had planned on stealing some rolls of premium wad from our gracious hosts, Doug and Dallas, but Air Canada threw a wrench into those plans.  Any more than one checked bag and I'll have to re-mortgage the house to pay for what Air Canada wants weary travellers to pay for that second bag.  I could leave all of my clothes here and fill up my one bag with Dallas' Royale. (I previously thought it was Cottonelle, but Royale will do in a pinch too.)  Doing that would be too much of a waste because Doug would not be able to use my clothes.  We are similar in size and weight, but our bodies have their lumps and bumps in different spots.

The crescendo moment of our trip, as well as the reason we first decided to come to Toronto, took place last night.  Katy Perry lived up to everything we could have imagined.  She is a consummate entertainer, a wonderful and just seems like someone you would like to call your friend.  I'm fortunate my kids are 10 and 8 years old and are into pop culture.  It keeps me younger and at least a little more in tune with what's hip (although the word hip is probably no longer hip, but at least I'm trying).  I was speaking to my brother just as we were about to go into the Air Canada Centre, along with 15,000 others, to see Katy.  Bill has kids who are 4 and 2, so his not surprising response to my Katy Perry statement was "Who's she?"  Telling him "I Kissed A Girl and I Liked It" did nothing. "Firework" did not brighten any light bulbs either. It felt good to be so much more "rad" than my younger brother.  Come one Bill, stop idolizing Seger and Stewart and start living in the now.