Life on the Boulevard

He's there everyday. Walking his short, little route up and down the boulevard in front of the plaza. He's the walking advertisement for one of the stores there, wearing his ridiculous shoulder placard, holding another sign and waving to the passing traffic with his free hand.

I wonder who he is and why he's there. Without fail, everyday that I go home on the bus he's walking the beat and trying to sell a product. In all kinds of weather he's a constant, even if the temperature isn't. On the weekends when we happen to drive by he is there like a robot traversing the same path, up and down waving to the passerbys.

He's not old but he looks worn. Probably in his 30s although being outdoors all the time doing an uninteresting and dead-end task would surely age anyone. He's got the frizzy, straight-haired, rocker mullet which by daily examination, seems like the only kind of style he could do anyway with that hair type. He's got a sad, resigned smile that never leaves his kind-looking face as he waves automatically to people zooming off to more important jobs and careers.

I've watched as his grassy trail turned from glossy green to threadbare yellow, finally becoming just a crooked little compacted, muddy rut bearing testament to his constant patrol. Now that it's getting warmer he's veered off his well-worn tracks to advertise on the grass next to it, no doubt to save his shoes from the melting mud. I look at his life, stamped out in a 50 foot length and wonder where he came from and why he's doing this.

As dumb and pointless his job may seem to be, perhaps he's racking up business for the little store in the plaza. Maybe he's a super rich guy who's doing this because he likes to be outside and wants a stress-free life. Who knows what his motivations and thoughts are, it could be all he could find to make ends meet. But if you think about it, we're all in the same boat. Looking at the big picture, we're pretty insignificant even though we try to make a dent in the span of our extreme finiteness. Our footprints only remain for so long until they're swept away, his are just more obvious for now.

Fridge, Meet Your Match!

My sense of smell has evolved from that of a wolf to one of a shark. It's awesome, if you want to be able to detect a drop a blood in the environment a kilometer away. On land, it'd be like having the power to smell someone's cologne or lunch from down the hallway. Magnified. I can't begin to count how many times a day I run away from blasts of stink at the risk of projectile vomitting and passing out for what seems like no good reasons at all. I hate my omnipotent nose. God totally must've felt like a tricky bastard the day he handed out superpowers and saw my name. Thanks.

My fridge has been assaulting me with the stench of sour something lately, I couldn't find the source. I've thrown out old crap and laid out dishes of baking soda in the hopes of neutralizing the grossness. Nothing worked. Of course when I asked Mr. Stinky about it, he took a long, deep breath inside and pronounced it safe thus making me think I'm either crazy or have become a higher being of some sort. Everytime I opened the door the noxious fumes made me gag, it was so horrible.

Last night me and the fridge threw down. I couldn't stand the bouquet anymore and decided the showdown was happening at sundown. We went toe to toe, the fridge was completely emptied and I washed everything in there: shelves, walls, tupperware and jars, with my favourite cleaning duo of vinegar and water. I used to hate the smell of vinegar, such a turn off! But since I decided to go "green" and mostly stopped using commercial cleansers in the house we've become almost best friends... it cleans and deodorizes without leaving a scent once dried. Obviously my keen sense of smell prevents me from enjoying the smell of the store bought products and vinegar and water is so much more economical anyway. So last night was a fridge sanitizing frenzy of madness. I tossed out a bunch of old stuff, scrubbed and sliced up a lemon afterwards to absorb any lingering stink. This morning it smells fine, I'm hoping it stays that way. I don't want to go insane detecting molecules of anything in there, however it may already be too late. Stay tuned for my next senseless war story when I think random guy in the crowd is sending me morse code messages with his eyes when really he's just blinking, so I go off to fight hurricanes.

Smelly Fridge: 0
Stinky T: 1

I Just Need it to Work!

I should be glad that my workplace supplies stationery for us hard-working drones. It'd be so much nicer if we got quality stuff from a quality supplier since what we have to use is pretty shitty. But oh oh, we can't go to another store to buy a nicer pen or printer toner because we have an exclusive contract with this company and everything must be purchased through them.

I don't see why I have to put up with no name post-it notes that don't stick to anything once you rip them off the pad. What the frig is the point, then? I might as well use an old gum wrapper affixed with a paperclip for all the convenience these post-its are providing. I'd use tape, if half of the sticky stuff didn't routinely end up on the wrong side of the roll. While we're at it, why don't I just prick my fingertips and write in blood? The flow would certainly be more consistent than the ink we get from some of these pens.

Good lord, of all the things to piss you off at work why's it got to be the basic writing utensils we are required to use? I don't even use correction fluid anymore because the stuff that comes in the bottles is akin to dirty water. By the time I've applied the 43rd coat to sufficiently cover my mistake the paper looks like a mess made by an overzealous and sloppy 5th grader. The tape stuff likes to break off into little pieces so to cover a five letter word I need to piece together 7 sections of it and sometimes they decide they don't want to stick either, instead balling up into bits and flying away like eraser crumbs.

For a really long time we had to use recycled toners for our machines because that's what the supplier had. For a really long time we sent numerous letters out to clients professionally done in completely greyed-out paper, black lines across the sheets and faded sections. When we complained about the poor printing and copying quality we were told to suck it up and deal.

On those days when you're just not feeling cheerful about going to work it's all the little things that just keep piling the shit on top. I feel the love, I do. It's the two seconds of reprieve between the slaps to the face we enjoy on a regular basis.

Would 'Excuse Me' Have Been Enough?

I had an unfortunate burping incident on the GO Train Friday. I probably offended and shocked a few people around me, hell, I was no less shocked being the unintended offender. Truthfully, it wasn't expected and I've actually matured sufficiently within the last few years to know that belching in public is a social no-no. OK, except when you're with friends, drunk, farting and generally having a gay ol' time.

I'm one of those people who can burp like a champ, think of me as a human bagpipe. The tonal control, the bass and volume... it's a life skill masterfully perfected and practiced until you meet a boy you really like and want to impress. Then the skill kind of disappears for awhile because you don't want to scare him off after that first lovely, candlelit meal by letting loose and turning the candles into white-hot torches, singeing off his facial hair while obliterating all sense of hearing. Yah, not so much something you want to show off right away.

You know how sometimes you feel a little burp in your throat so you do that big, deep breath thing so that the bubble dissolves and becomes a part of your exhalation? That's what I thought I had and thus commenced with the deep breath technique, except it wasn't a little burp. It was somehow used as a camouflage by the real culprit; a nasty beer-belly, butt scratching, stale smokes and stained wife beater eruption. Akin to the kind you used to admire as a kid when your grandfather sat in his chair and nonchalantly unhinged that stomach sphincter to unleash a 5 second gale of china-shaking, sometimes almost musical belch performed by a full orchestra, no less, that should go down in history as an epic event. It's the kind of commanding performance that could part the seas and unless you happened to sit downwind of him and smell what he was digesting, that's the stuff that makes you giggle and be in awe of his powers at the same time.

So enough of talking about my grandpa's gas. You know by now what I'm getting at and what I expelled while in the midst of civilized people who don't do these kinds of things in public. I was mortified, I hoped it wasn't so bad that it shook my seat, and thus of the woman beside me. I hoped it wasn't as disgusting and loud as it sounded to me, although I'm fairly certain that it was. Once again iPod came to the rescue as with it in and my eyes closed I pretended it wasn't me. It's not like I wanted to open my eyes and see who was staring at me anyway. Maybe I should've used my super secret government spy skills to stealthily point a finger at my seatmate and thus direct everyone else's glares of disgust at her. Or maybe she had some gas that afternoon and possessed the power of ventriloquism and made it seem like I did it. Curses!

Next question, do I dare sit in that area again?

Stinky Copperfield?

Short one today.

After lunch I went to the washroom as I always do to pee and brush my teeth. Not at the same time, and with a thorough hand wash in between. As I sat there spaced out and doing my thing, the washroom door opened and I heard a male voice say something. In hindsight it was most likely something like "Anybody in there?", but in that moment what went through my head was, "A guy's coming in here! Did I go to the wrong washroom??" It wouldn't have been the first time... except for once when I was a kid, before I learned how to read, became genuinely confused and accidentally eeny-miney-mohed my way into (the wrong) one, I've done it numerous times to bypass the ridiculous line-ups for the women's loo but this time I was fairly sure I wanted a washroom without urinals and I didn't want to get caught with my pants down in the wrong place... literally.

The could've been embarassing moment passed as I realized that not only was I in the correct washroom as per my gender, but it was just the custodian checking to make sure he didn't walk into anything icky. I called out "Hellooo!" and he exited. As I finished, flushed and headed for the sinks I could hear him standing just outside waiting patiently. I turned on the tap and began lathering up. Almost finished, he opened the door again and hollered "Still in there?" My answer this time was of the highly perplexed tone as I called out "Yeaahh.. .. ...." I mean, what??! I ended up not even brushing my teeth because I didn't want to be in his way anymore than I already had been but I still don't get it....

Just Another Day

I’m bad for recharging my iPod, almost always waiting until it’s bone dry to plug it in. Might be because I’m so spoiled now that I know it won’t shut off on me after one listen. This morning as I turned it on for the ride into work there was a touch of panic because my battery only showed a sliver of power. The kind of sliver where you gotta squint a little and turn the iPod from side to side like a hologram to see anything. I knew it was a matter of seconds or minutes before it blipped out on me and like a fool I’d either have to take out my earphones and put it away or sit there pretending that there was still music going on. I’ve done both, depending on the day’s mood.

Miracles of miracles today iPod treated me to a Hanukkah of sorts and played music for exactly an hour and twenty minutes... 79 minutes longer than I expected. Enough to get to work and walk around until I almost made it to training… where I’ve been lately. Then the telltale blip went off and I enjoyed a few silent moments before walking into class. I love my iPod.

On the walk to class I enjoyed a brisk walk in the PATH of downtown Toronto. I like swimming upstream against the current dodging and sidestepping everyone else once in awhile. Unlike Shuster who is big and fearless enough to plow right through people, my specialty is squirting around in tight spaces. However, once in awhile when someone won’t show enough courtesy to give me my space I do enjoy sharing with them my sharp shoulder or hip. There was a little of that going on today.

Oh, this morning, a guy and I got to an escalator at the exact same time. We saw each other, slowed down so as to avoid any collisions and stepped on together, me on the right him on the left. Then of all things, he moved to the right of the escalator… an acceptable practice to allow walkers space on the left side. But hello, I was standing beside him, right? What resulted was him smooshing me into the side of the escalator and I don’t tolerate that. I might, if he was super hot, and then maybe we’d make out like teenagers to the top but he wasn’t and got a head shake and sigh instead. What the hell.

I’m usually really fast when I go pee in public washrooms, utilizing the hover bum method. I probably take the most time in there washing my hands after the deed. The other day I decided to try something new and used those fancy toilet liners washrooms sometimes provide. Getting those doodads to work is like rocket science. I was using both hands, elbows and a knee, and still almost managed to drop the thing in the toilet. Futzing around with that translucent piece of stupidness I knew that if I had just hovered I would’ve been done and out of there already. Instead I was wasting my time performing some kind of surgical procedure in there. Goodness.

So you see, not much going on lately. Just enough to keep me busy, not enough for quality entertainment.