I, Scream

Can they hear the screams? I find myself asking on a surprisingly regular basis. Perhaps the underlying theme of 2009, are the monsters from my past continuing to wriggle their way back into my present and I find myself consistently rivaling my old ways. As mentioned in a previous blog posting, I am slowly trying to piece together some kind of new life, post graduation, and despite the impossibly horrible reality that I have been dipping my feet in some familiar mud pools along the way, I'd like to think I am moving in the right direction. Applying for another retail job was the furthest thing from what I wished to be doing, yet before I knew it, I quickly found myself ripping open the plastic pouch that contained my freshly folded work uniform, from a local Home furnishings store. The pay was borderline acceptable, and my full time status was exactly what I needed to make my dream come true. Not matter what anyone tells you, money can, and does buy happiness.


This afternoon, I was preoccupied reading the boxes of toasters and blenders trying to educate myself on the in's and out's of small kitchen appliance culture, when I was distracted by the sounds of a hillbilly accent, often heard in shopping malls outside of the downtown core, yet not common enough to disregard. Knowing how much time I had to kill before my next break, and knowing the likelihood of humor that would be attached to this accent, instantly attracted me to this crime against grammar. I soon spotted a tall man, in a wife beater, with armpit hair so long it could be braided curiously prodding at a Margarita mixer. "Do you need any help sir?" I desperately asked. "Heavens no" he replied, which at first got my spirits down, until of course he completed his frail sentence. "Its just this shop is so different, I've never been to a place like this one here." Likely in response to my inquisitive facial expressions, eager for more juicy gossip to later report on this blog, the man continued.. "You see here, I'm from the north, the far north, son.. so far north, that their 'aint no north." To condense, and spare my readers from the most ridiculous conversation I have ever had, this man and his wife came down to the "big city" for a summer vacation, and this was their first ever visit out of the north, since "the north was a desert". Whatever that means. I put my useless knowledge of permafrost and facts about the actuality that the north is much like a desert aside. The man then asked how much I was making per hour, and after I reluctantly revealed my "going rate" he chuckled, and replied, "You can't survive off that son, you need to come back up to the north with me" where they will "make me 30-40 dollars per hour."

I had to bite my tognue, at first I thought, "could I just disapear into the night, up to the far north, and live like a King?" Yes, of course I would miss summer, and daylight for most of the year, but I would be rich, and I would live in the most fabulous ice house ever, designed by me, but built by the locals. Then I snapped back into reality, and realized that if I followed this family up to the north, this could be me in five years, arriving at a dumpy mall, thinking it was just so amazing, and worst of all, just like this man, I would mistake the Margarita mixer for a crock pot.


B

Who Hearts DT?

Looks like Defective Thoughts needs some hits from the southern hemisphere!

Keep reading, B

Gum Isnt Glue

Today I learned numerous life lessons, most of which the majority of the population understood many years ago in grade school. In an attempt to be more proactive on the employment front, I decided today would be an nice afternoon to walk downtown to drop my applications for the City of Calgary at the employment drop box. I envisioned a nice stroll along the river, and perhaps I would treat myself to some kind of summer snack along the way. After spending a considerable portion of my day weighing the pro's and con's of registering for a twitter account, I got into my summer cloths and was out the door, ready for my adventure to begin. Not being discouraged by the rumbling black clouds in the distance, I began my trek downtown. Well, one thing led to another, and around the time that I was furthest from any kind of indoor retreat the downpour began. I was forced to fold my resumes into my clothing to protect the precious non-waterproof computer ink, which divulged my oh-so precious skills and ambitions. I spent the next thirty minutes attempting to navigate the plus-15 walking system, rationalizing that "all walkways MUST lead to City Hall." It wasn't long before I gave up on my sense of direction, and returned to the streets. Upon reaching my destination, in worse condition than a cat being swept away by a polluted river, I was quite enthused to see my City working cousin "LiTea". "Don't mind my appearance" I shamefully insisted. I wanted her to know that I wasn't expecting a face-face interview wearing flip flops and my summer wear, and that instead I was using the anonomys drop box which thankfully concealed the applicants fashion sense, or common sense.

After spending a delightful moment discussing my chances of landing any of the positions posted, and weighing the likihood of me getting the one that paid $125,000, we started chatting about how much fun my stampede season has been. I explained my financial situation, and how I basically had been living the life of a homeless person since returning to Canada. "I have like $100, all of which was loaned to me." I admitted. It was around this time that my flip flop broke into two pieces, and I almost began to cry. This is when I learned the fact that gum doesnt work like glue. It was all LiTea's idea, and I shamefully gave it a shot, which was a huge disaster. "How am I going to get home?" I wailed. LiTea suggested I stop over at Winners downtown, but I admitted I didn't bring money, a strategy I've been using lately to help curb my spending habits. This of course was one of those emergencies, that I didn't think actually would happen. I told LiTea to go back to her office, so there was zero chance of her being associated with a soaking wet, barefooted peasant. We bid farewell, and I began to shuffle out of City Hall, wondering how far I could drag my one foot inside a disintegrated flip flop. It was about 2 meters, and then the sandal flipped upside down almost causing me to slide into a gutter. It was about this time that I wish I was at home eating the small fortune of crispy mini's I purchased last night. I took out my blackberry and dialed my father, instructing him that I could be found outside City Hall in a gutter, in the exact opposite situation he would hope to find his only son to be in.

On a lighter note, I have an interview with a large home furnishings and accessory store on friday, a place I applied at in hopes that I could use the discount to furnish my future apartment- a place that will likely never exist at this rate.

B

My Life In Shambles

Its been just about one week since I have arrived back in Canada after my traveling adventures overseas- and like most travelers out there, you know that returning back to your normal life back home can be quite depressing, compared of course to the exciting weeks you just spent in a different country. My trip has left me "financially strapped" to put things lightly, and perhaps the worst culture shock I experienced over the past few months, was having my debit card declined due to "insufficient funds" at Safeway, shamefully resulting in me leaving empty handed. One might think that being at the self checkout counter might be less humiliating, until of course you have to inform the oh-so helpful staff member desperately trying to figure out why the transaction wont go through, that you need to surrender the basket of groceries to her, and that you wont be running to your car for an alternative payment option.

As the days passed on, and the weather put a hex on my original activities I had envisioned for my week, those being catching some rays in the backyard to reclaim my Croatia color which was scalded away by the African sun, I began to realize that the homeless person lifestyle I had come to know and love for its acceptance overseas simply wouldn't cut it back home. I needed a plan. I immediately consulted an episode of "Til' Debt do us Part" for guidance, and unfortunately this catapulted me into marathon of "Bulging Brides", not a complete waste of time, but sufficient enough to mention. What I did learn from the fraction of educational content included, was that I needed to outline a set of goals, and eventually, tackle the actual execution of efforts. I compiled a small list of goals, obviously descending in order of likeliness to come to fruition.

1. Prepare a relatively healthy meal for dinner.
2. Search the internet for prospective part time jobs.
3. E-mail my resume to the family computer, so I can use the printer to deliver my resumes.
4. Perhaps put my relationship with Tivo on hold.
5. Have a garage sale of whatever I need to sell to the pay off my debts to Visa.
6. Become an intermediate Tennis player.
7. Secure full time employment.
8. Move out by September 1.

After completing the list, I began to get stressed out. "As if any of these are possible" I groaned. I pulled myself together, and began gathering enough change from around desk drawers and table tops in my room to purchase some polysporin for my mysterious "yet to heal" wounds still lingering from my travels. I wanted to call 311.. my own version of 911, as it frankly answers all of my prayers, and has been rather helpful in past predicaments. I remember less fondly, around two years ago as I was frantically driving around an Industrial park in Calgary, disturbingly close to missing a job interview. My immediate reaction to being lost was to call 311. "311, How can I help you?".. "Hi, I need some help, I'm lost, I have a job interview in 4 minutes, can you help me please?" Being quite unhelpful the woman explained to me that it wasn't a personal emergency service, and that she couldn't help me. "Could you just look up the number of the interview office, and tell them that I am coming but might be late!" I reasoned, in a last ditch attempt to solve my problem. I cant remember if she responded, or simply hung up, but typically this route of crisis managment works wonders.

Since the completion of the list, X many days ago, I have begun to pull together the strength to at least prepare to get prepared to start getting the wheels of my future in motion, and despite discovering new excuses every day to prolong the period needed to recover from jet lag, I am slowly getting myself back on track.

B