Alas

Alas, the time has come. This is going to be a reminiscent of my “I think I can do it” in Portland spill – gotta try and not get distracted. This’ll take a couple of hours.

Current State of Affaires

I am back from BC, unsure as to whether for good or not, and am working in a warehouse doing some basic “meditative” assembly and a little floor management. I am actively looking for more/other work. Today, I am in pain. My back hurts. Why - a game of darts in an Irish pub the morning after the Night of the Dirty Belvedere Martinis. The bartender had already passed me an Advil Gel Cap for migraines. Toss a dart, then another, and at some point – crick.

I was hit by a car in spring.

I was jay-crossing Burrard on foot when I got smoked and follow that up with these pictures. My bones are cricking and cracking again. Sitting here hurts a little.

The catalyst to this… essay… was an email from a friend. It read:

I've been reading your blog lately, man, and I've got to say I'm getting concerned. Are you OK? I'm not talking about the living situation or the lack of job situation… I'm talking about YOU.

I know it may seem empty, seeing that there's likely little I can do to truly help, but if you want to get together and shoot the shit, or if you need a sounding board, let me know.

On a drive into downtown Montreal two days ago, I mentioned to a friend that I might have to create a “How to read this blog?” post.

Ouch. Five minutes in Child Pose.

So, in light of this email, I am urged to explain the following:

Reading my blog

Each posting in my blog in like a painting or a song or a meal to me – born of whatever unique colors, sounds, or ingredients that any day or moment might provide. It does not intend to share any beliefs or otherwise. I sometimes write sad songs when I’m happy; draw faces I’ve never seen; cook cold soups in the winter.

I’d read it like I might eat a meal; concerned for the quality, freshness, and wholeness of the meal and less for any attention to classical ideal or detail; historical standard; status quo.

This blog just is… my idea of art – not a confession (okay, maybe sometimes ;)

So it all started

So it all really started with that accident. My life changed; then again; then again…

I lost interest in the IT field; it lost interest with me. To be frank, it hurt to code, much like it hurts to sit here right now :/ Sitting at a desk all day was not on my list of things to do. I needed work.

Enter Mr. Freak

Mr. Freak was my friend. We hung out all the time. We talked about a lot of things, including his being gay – which he was not particularly outward about. He’s been through some shit in his life. So have I. So have we all. We worked together at my first west coast IT job. Then he left to manage a local gay bar; let’s call it Letters, where change is inevitable.

Mr. Freak and I were hanging out, eating dinner, and possibly getting shit done. Our relationship grew into one of mutual tolerance. There were things he didn’t “agree with” in terms of my perspective and I with his. Seeing eye-to-eye with people is not always a priority for me. If he likes Dr. Phil… he likes Dr. Phil. No skin off my back.

He called me one day in spring of 2005.

"Can you work the door?"

At a gay bar? Hmm… need cash; don’t have any problem with it…

"Sure."

I worked the door. I considered my dedication outside the average, but only because he was my friend; loyalty. It even happened that I had to get involved while off duty and rather SAUCED. Never a big deal, but the idea always bothered me… implied liabilities and such.

Hm. Let me take a second to describe this situation. When I met Mr. Freak back in 2004, N O B O D Y where we worked really liked him (estimate 10 – 15 employees). He was a sort of black sheep. I like black sheep. I’ve been one. I never assume the worst, but the more likely scenario that people are sometimes a little strange or awkward. Anyhow, long story short, we became “best buds”. Maybe I should have heeded the warnings.

So at some point I got promoted to barman. I earned my wings. I had a following and a crew. I loved them all. Working in a gay bar implies a certain intimacy. That’s all I’ll say about it.

Shortly thereafter, I became best friends with fellow employs Mr. Donis and Mr. King of Queens (as well as a slew of others, but not now). We got along famously. People thought we might be all have been related (as I was openly not gay - the more common conclusions would be quickly discounted ;)

Stretch. Ouchouch.

Confrontations with Mr. Freak

Mr. King of Queens “quit”. Mr. Donis got fired. I loved them both, but the Donis was… my brutha frum anutha mutha. I couldn’t do anything for the King, but did for the Donis. He got his job back after I took a bar census, got ideas together, moderated the common position, and then approached Mr. Freak. Then a 3 hour “debate” - bartender to bar manager - over some drinks. He ended the conversation with “Thanks. Glad we could work that out. You’re fired - just kidding”. Asshole.

A month later, I was fired; October 1st 2005. During my meeting with Mr. Freak, I had mentioned a concern for scheduling and that there were some basic and consistent complaints coming from the staff… ok…

About the Staff

I arrived in Van with one friend out there. We lived together. Good times. It stayed about the same for the better part of a year with the exception of one other friend Mr. Freak and his entourage (word! good guys and gals!) and of course a RIGID SHOUT OUT to Agent R MontalBOND 0069!

I lived in a suburb and getting around was a little tiring. I was working for the biggest entertainment conglomerate in the city, but connected to very few people. No comment on why; it just was. I was lonely for a real tight connection. Mr. Freak was fun and I liked him, but he wasn’t really the best buddy type. From what I could tell, he cycled through friends quite often – ahem.

The staff became like a family to me. I knew them all. They all came to my house after shifts (and so did the occasional clients). They all loved me and I loved them. Hmm… maybe he didn’t like that? Not sure. Other managers would talk to me about him. Other employees would talk to me about him. I stood up for him, often trying to help everyone understand that he is new and learning and needs our support, understanding, and help to overcome the hurdles that lay… blah… I used to manage and have worked with managers far greater and far worse - just saying my experience slightly exceeds bartending in a small bar ;)

Getting Fired

Fuck was I pissed. I had started telling you that we had discussed something at the meeting. It was about scheduling and human resource management. A few obvious thieves and slackers got in because Mr. Freak didn’t want to listen to consensus – we got robbed and slacked.

I was often late, but for the day shifts. The day shifts were dead. The day shifts followed night shifts. The day shifts involved setting up the bar for the coming more prosperous night shift - thusly gruntish and not very lucrative work. I’d done tons of them. I’d done tons of them after closing the bar the night before. I was new; a grunt; my pleasure. But I wasn’t new anymore; I was a contender. LOL. I asked to be taken off the day shifts forever, such that, I am no longer available for day shifts, thank you. He eventually replied:

“I am your manager. What are you trying to do; manage me? I decide when you are available. It’s not that you can’t work; it’s that you don’t want to!”

I got $8/hr with no guaranteed shifts or hours; average tips for a 7 hour day shift: $15. Most of us managed 2 – 4 shifts and it might have knowingly been our only job. If you wanted the good shifts, you had to be available ALL the time as scheduling and training and hiring were questionable. I could usually take the hit financially, but was becoming exhausted by the next-day-double. nuff said.

I went to Saskatoon for 4 days to train for a FoxPro project; it was like flying to Japan because they made me wake up at 7:00am, my usual bed time. I got back - exhausted - on a Thursday night; fired on the following Saturday evening for being late for a day shift. I only saw the schedule at the end of my Friday shift which ended at 8:00am Saturday morning; doorman got a golf club to the head – he came over to my place with the usual suspects; bed by 8am; nuff said.

Witnesses: 7.

October 1st 2005

Fired. Then, shortly after, asked to cover a DAY SHIFT for the next day Sunday (leaving papers are in hand) because NOBODY EVER WANTS TO DO THEM. I said yes, but because Mr. Kojak said “Do it for me.” (Mr. Kojak was another friend who didn’t quite like some Freakish tendencies). I ended up spending the day getting… shooting shit with one of my first and favorite clients. We then went for sushi. After that shift, I went up to Mr. Freak and asked if we could work it out.

“No.”

“Can we get an arbitrator?”

“No. It’s over. Forget it.”

“But these people are my family now.”

“Look. You can do what you want. Contact the board; file your complaint.”

“Mr. Freak, please, don’t ask me to solve this outside of our friendship or this bar. It won’t be pretty for either of us.”

“What does that mean?”

“I dunno. It means what it means.”

He ended up barring me for 3 months because he thought I threatened him… until January 1st 2006.

It bothered me for 2 weeks. Everyone was sad.

I didn’t talk to him again, not until the week I left BC, and that was only say… a la prochaine.

The three of us who got fired started hooking up. We called ourselves:

“The Letters Birthday Boys”
Have you had yours?
Change is good.

Sorry Mr Freak. Wish we coulda made it.

Getting fired, in its own way, was awesome. The party moved to my house. That family came home.

And for this first time in two years, I fell in love with Vancouver*.

XO.

Done.

* I love BC, ABSOLUTLEY GORGEOUS, but the Vanurban was… harder to get to know.

Enter the Landlord / Enter Miss. Eye

While is Saskatoon, I hooked up with a friend of a friend from Van. Saskatoon, oddly enough, doesn’t need a tour guide, but it sort of does… you know? Anyways, I needed one.

Enter Miss. Eye. She was a bomb, no, really, KA POW KA BANG! She was on her way to Van the next day. We met in Van. She managed insulting, hurting, breaking, messing, botching, wrinkling, wronging everything she freakin’, touched, looked at, or thought of. She got a letter, but not from me. I read it to make sure it, um, qualified; had to look some things up ;) She lasted 10 days and I had to apologize to a friend because she lit a joint at one of his tables, in one of his restaurants, screaming “It’s fuckin’ BC. Loosen up”. Bye bye.

Enter the landlord…

Fuck. Server is down; fan died… need hosting… so, in the meantime, copy/paste:

Dear fellow residents of 1133 Beach Ave., Vancouver, BC… blah… I’ll make the link later…

HAHA! Made it now! Dear Fellow Residents

Anyhow, got evicted; got mad; wrote letter; got in again; left anyway, but only on December 1st.

The Saskatoon FoxPro deal had to keep on keepin’ on, but it didn’t; because of me; because of them. Bad match. Bad vibes. Bad end. C’est la vie, mais dommage because it was a work-from-home project management position in the domain of POS systems. Good times???

Enter the Dragon

I was BROKE. Saskatoon gave me $1500 which would’ve made me relax for a second (especially because my last two shifts were day shifts ;), but the bank took it right out of my hand. Man, horse to water or water to horse or whatever just trying to say… thirsty fuckin’ horse!

Broke. Why is this so perplexing? My initial eviction, the firing, the bar barring, the bar family, the Saskatoon, the Miss. Eye, the nothing going on was enough to help me consider that maybe I should go see the family back in Montreal. I called. We talked. I decided.

No jobs for an transexpatriplant with 30 days to burn.

October 15th 2005

Still typing… Kerouac was on cra… oh yeah. Well, not me. And I rewrote some of the pervious stuff. 11:00pm et bon soir (to this anyway).