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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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I can't shake the 'Stranger in a Strange Land' feeling here.
First of all, living on the cusp of the most abject of poverty and yet only a few blocks walk to the west and all the needles, garbage, police, tents, all suddenly disappear. The neighborhood, for sure expensive - mind numbingly so, far beyond what you would guess to look at - but how is it that the poverty hasn't crawled it's way up West Hastings to encamp on their lawns and boulevards?
Everywhere - down here - the grocery, the drug store with more security than cashiers - forever darting after the sketchiest of people that are busy shoplifting or eating the food in the store - a necessity if they're to show even the slightest profit. There used to be a time when this was the job of the police - now, the police are protecting the Gucci Shops, the higher end boutiques, they have no time for the petty crime of East Hastings.
The cafes - largely empty, with free refills, 2, 3, 4 baristas standing around, what is going on here? If all the money they earned went into rent and rent alone they'd be thousands of dollars short each month, let alone stock, staffing, utilities, etc.
I'm talking to the owner of the corner shop - how does this work? With the long hours, extravagant rents, the constant ongoing theft, how does he pay the bills? And he's explaining to me, theft is not a big problem, only maybe $50 a day, sales around a thousand $, and as he's explaining a small dude, sketchy as fuck comes in, wearing Silver Sweat Pants with a pair of matching shorts worn on top, piss running down his leg and through his crocks, I wonder if he chose to wear crocks so he wouldn't be squelching in the warm then cold and freezing piss all day, do people premeditate this? and as we're talking sketchy grabs a coke and makes a break for the door, I stop him with a "Hey buddy, you wanna pay for that?" at which point he's annoyed, "Go ahead of me, that's ok" I say to him, he's grumbling that he intended to pay, slaps a $100 bill on the counter, I'm watching, WTF? And now he's demanding his change in $5.00 Bills, the owner, he's telling him he can't do it, it will kill his float,...
After this the owner just looks at me - this theft, it's more like $500 a day and he doesn't want to say.
What is going on here? There is no business within a mile that can be paying it's rent, have it's doors open, yet here they all are, it's some sort of machine, engine of wealth, finance, that I can't even dimly comprehend, I'm the initiate, there are mysteries here for sure, all of it, this whole world...there is such a disconnect between money and the people who work and earn it, how do they do this? I cannot fathom...
Then go to work at the restaurant.
In Calgary, at the restaurant, we had our millionaires, billionaires even, they could explain how they came into their money, where it came from, they knew their employees, their business, out here? No one I'm sure, there's the large Asian population, silent, they're not talking, you can guess, but it's just a guess, there are the property developers, this I can understand, but - there are countless others that seem to have their pockets full of wads of cash, infinitely deep, and no ready explanation.
The preponderance of Plastic Surgery, reconstructed noses, cheekbones, chins, a little injection into the upper lip, frozen, expressionless foreheads, groups of "upscaled" women, tall, sinewy, vacuous conversations, all made in the same image, the Kardashian template of features stamped across a hundred different physiognomies, ethnicities, varying only in the things that the surgeon couldn't remedy, perfectly beautiful women transformed into sideshow freaks, the old restaurant owner, the Italian Place in Calgary, Him & His nephew would have gone crazy here, a hundred lawsuits a day...
Beauty here always the quest to conform to somebody else's Instagram Ideals.
How did they get the money? Trust funds? Divorces? Inheritances? I mean, there's no way they earned it. It's inconceivable that in any way they 'earned' this, unless you count a lucrative alimony...
There's a table, conversing, right beside bar, I can hear every word...unadulterated this is their conversation: "Shoop moosh bag coke wine Rich Hahahha", there's not even a glimmer of intelligence in a single one of them, not even a properly constructed sentence, and yet here they are spending $1000 on appetizers and drinks, even they, I doubt, could explain how they came to be here.
It's the scam, the con of money in Improbably Large Sums entrusted to the unlikeliest, unworthiest of people.
Christmas Parties, bathrooms filled with couples doing cocaine, other customers complaining, the guy with the coke at the Christmas Party, he's the one getting lucky, he leaves the bathroom first, his date follows a few minutes later having finished powdering her nose, the overtly-self-conscious composure, she's holding it all together, she's fine, nobody knows...
Easily 50%, 80%, 90% of the liquor poured down the sink, they order the most expensive tequila shots, wines, champagnes, leave it behind untouched, order another cocktail, shot, I'm busy perpetually clearing full drinks, none of it even getting a chance to be pissed away, .
Bill ends up at 90K$, for 60 people, add on 20% gratuity, no, they want to leave more, "OK" then yells Chef "Make it 25%".
***
Walk through East Van - Vacant lots, blasted houses, empty, "Worth a Million Dollars", but how, just how? Who would build here, on a foundation of shit, piss and dirty syringes and garbage, on a foundation that amounts to a disease filled cesspool, and building here what would you do? You have acres of the most undesirable neighbors in the world, don't build windows, why would you pay millions to live in a house where you were forever afraid to open your doors and step outside?
I have no clue as to what is going on, and it's creating a sort of dissonance in my head, I'm too new here to just accept it and am perpetually trying to find answers, the initiate into the secret economy...
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The trip - in the end, long. Flight to Edmonton Via bus to Abbotsford then cab to YVR ...
Then flight, and uneventful arrival in Edmonton, a few days visiting, rental car down slick roads to Nelson, various errands and things to be attended to.
12 hours, uneventful, over the pass because I wanna hit the liquor store in Nelson before they close - and, sliding, sliding outside Salmo I discover I might have a dry night, but - even out the speed, and in the end I get to Nelson 1 minute before close. Whew...
The return, a long drive from Nelson to Red Deer, spend the night at cheap motel, then onward to Edmonton. The next morning, white-out road conditions, the roads don't appear bad - when you can see them - but I pass overturned semi's and pick-ups freshly in the ditch, buried past their bumper, blinkers still on.
Slow, slow, there's no rush, you can't see the ice but there's abundant evidence it's there, and better to arrive a bit late then not at all...
Finally, another night in Edmonton, visit father, brother, and off back to YVR. 2 1/2 hours early for domestic flights, time to be spent past the security checkpoints or waiting in the bar. There's the endless repetition of trivial tasks, the proof of Vaccine to get boarding pass, show boarding pass at security, vaccine passport to get a drink, wait, boarding pass and ID again to board. The plane is late boarding.
Finally, board, de-ice, waiting, waiting, finally, an hour and a half late, flying to Calgary - leaving at approximately 8:00 we arrive at 8:45, taxi, wait for ground crews, everyone is short staffed, the OMICRON, it has the airlines laid low, I want off the plane, want a cigarette before the next flight, am thinking of calling the police to report a hijacking, a jihad, when finally, 9:15, and we're getting off the plane.
My connecting flight leaves for Vancouver at 9:30, all hopes to grab a cigarette are out the window, hurrying to the next gate - resigned that I'm going to miss it but I have to try, do something...
Check departures. My connecting flight is late. roughly an hour and a quarter. Time for a cigarette after all.
Outside for cigarette. Have 2, it's going to be a while before the next one.
Then back in, line up, through security. Strip down, empty pockets, take off watch, belt, one bucket, break up laptop into one bin, bags into 2 others, coats in another.
Through security, explain the fountain pens to the man rooting through my bag, dress, and back in to the gate.
The time has changed again, now 2 hours late.
At 11:00 I hear them doing the final boarding for my flight, only - the gate has changed again, and I'm running another airport mile to the new gate, from gate C55 to A11, and I make it, amongst the last 2 or three to board...
And this flight I win. I've a window seat, these ones, comfortable leatherette, and it's a 3 seat row, ABC, and I'm A and there's no one else in it.
Finally, Vancouver, disembark - outside for a cigarette, time to grab the last 12:50 train back to Waterfront, arrive back at the Hostel around 2:00 AM, half thinking to spend the night out, why pay for an extra night - but, it's not too cold but it's raining, and you know this neighborhood, it's not a great idea, maybe if I had no bags...
All told, 11 hours travelling time for what directly should have been a 1 hour flight, and I've a few observations...
This 2 1/2 early policy for domestic flights, it's BS, with that in place I'd - and everyone else on the plane - would have been far better off - in every sense - taking a bus to Calgary. Cheaper and a lot quicker and a helluva lot less hassle.
And the countless, repetitive security checks - vaccine passports, scanners, metal detectors, billions of man hours, 1000's of lives wasted for every imaginary or theoretical life saved, money better spent in education, in social problems, no number of better ways that this money could be spent, it's increasingly obvious that they're just doing the prep work for a police state.
Another, all the pointless mini's that you have to buy to travel - toothpaste - shampoo - conditioner - lotions - mouthwash - hair product - etc, etc. Each "Mini" charging you a double what a full tube of toothpaste - shampoo - etc - etc - at 20X the volume - might cost.
And thirdly - the pretense of "inflight" service - this up-down the isles with the stewards/stewardesses to dispense cups of water or a tiny pack of peanuts, on a 45 minute, 1 hour flight, it's not service, it's a distraction, an attempt to pass the time, take your mind off the bloody-mindedness of modern travel, the "Hurry Up and Wait", the sheeple-conditioning of waiting in line, waiting for flights, perpetually waiting, in limbo, scrolling through your phone.
***
Every passenger's a hostage
Pack 'em in, Pack 'em in
Charge for luggage, charge for water,
Pack 'em in, Pack 'em in
Frisk them, Check them, Load them on the Plane
Pack 'em like sardines -
Ensure they never fly again -
Every Holiday's been cancelled or substantially delayed -
Hold them every one for ransom
It's not enough they overpaid
And if any should escape - and make it sometime home -
If they ever fly again - well then - they should have known!
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Which could also be entitled "Somebody Stole My Business Plan!!!"
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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So, a big part of the return here has been dealing with Stormy's affairs. Banking, arranging payment of the home, visiting - and - after a fashion he seems to be settling in, he introduces me to some new friends he's made, a husband and wife, others, takes me on a tour of the facilities, shows me his "haunts".
After catching up I promise to take him into Nelson Friday to run some errands and see some of his friends.
And when I arrive on Friday he's packed. Ready to go. He's running away, never coming back, he's packed his cherished possessions into a couple of cardboard boxes, he's going to have me drop him at the bank, he'll find a room or place to live...
I hate breaking the bad news, but if I'm signing him out I got to sign him back in.
He's not happy, but that's the deal.
With that understanding we set out.
A long drive for not a lot of visiting, frequent stops for bathroom, cigarettes, lunch at McDonalds (and he's impressed, loves it, can't remember when last he was here), on to Nelson where we go to the bank, grab coffee, do some thrifting - he finds a pair of shoes he's chuffed with, and other trifling errands. We look for some of his friends, few of them are anywhere to be found over the holidays, then he's done. We head back to Trail.
He's a charming host, guest, after his fashion, although he substantially overrated his walking skills (about 20 yards before he's exhausted), and seems reluctant to let me go - rare for him, generally he visits for a bit and is finished. And seeing - that despite he protests he hates Trail, and I understand why, he's nonetheless making friends, I'm not leaving him in the best of hands but - there are worse hands for sure.
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Tuesday, week last, a trip over to the Island to visit the boy.
Nanaimo Via Horseshoe Bay - Over the Lions Gate, into West Van, the houses, pleasant, no external clues as to their astronomical value, neighborhoods that I remember vaguely from childhood, the "rural & suburban" Vancouver, Horseshoe Bay, a stark contrast to the industrial Tsawwassen Ferry, a smaller, tiny terminal, mountains, peaks, inlets and islands, it is the very picture of an ad for "Travel BC".
The ferry ride - long, Nanaimo, well, there's nada in Nanaimo, we check the thrift shops for my bag, no luck, lunch - an overdone burger at a well reviewed pub - my own review would be substantially more damning - the boy, the island life, makes it a little, a lot tougher to "treat" him to a decent meal as I would the daughter, a short, few hour visit - but this change, to the island, the pace of life greatly slowed - it's worth it to escape the East Side, if only for a day...