The Sabbath Sabbatical

Lately I've had more of a pull to get the hell out of my apartment. It feels like if I don't get the hell out, and fast, I'm going to scream.

This has been the season of discontent for many. I am not exempt.

My Fatty's parents had been in Montreal for a week. They came home, debriefed over dinner; gave him a fruity tart which they shuttled back from the yum and good times capital of the country, where people can still respectably smoke indoors ( they are French, afterall). Fatty, too, had the build-up of scream just beyond nucleus level.

After a jaunty walk to Stratenger's, the bar that encourages smoking and doesn't discourage yelling from mezzanine level to orchestra pit, I found out from Fatty that it's only I or people I am acquainted with who do this. This yelling business. My darling friend Ian, the one who offered 14 bunches of daisies to a girl he really liked, only to receive the affronting reply of "Oh, not getting enough attention lately?" was upstairs. He wasn't yelling at me; he was yelling at James, the cerebral palsied bartender who was trying to ignore him. Ian whipped out his phone. He was going to call his order in. Any time I call for take out I always ask if there are any in-house promotions. There were no 2 for 1 specials that night. I brought up his single beer. Ian left with a random young lady whom I know he is using to quell any hurt feelings he garnered from the girl he really liked.

Just keep dancing a little longer... maybe the pain will go away.


I was talking to my excellent friend Tyrone the other day. Something similar had happened to him. There was a young lady who is in the same field as he, post production film, who he'd eyeballed for some time. They chatted on the phone. Ty's like a girlfriend that way. He's a prolific phone friend. During a rather lengthy call, the young lady had asked if Ty wanted to go out for a drink. They had several cocktails along with wonderful conversation, many laughs and a rather nice connection. She asked if she could go back to his place. In the morning they showered together then shared a cab to their respective places of employ. Leaving the cab Ty asked that she call him. The agreement was sealed with a kiss. Goodbye.

Days passed. Ty made several attempts at communication. Not a word from the young lady. Ty got worried. Worry turned into another phone call, this time to the florist's where an arrangement was sent over to her desk. Another day passed. A "Did you get the package I sent" follow-up call was placed. Nothing. Well, not nothing. Two months later she'd called. There was no mention of the time they'd shared nor the flowers that were sent. It was as if nothing had happened.

Being in the same field they eventually worked together on a project. A two week tenure. Because it was business Ty kept things civil. She was leading in this dance. He followed, barely stepping on any toes. He overheard a conversation between herself and another young lady who was convinced the solution to all her problems was a boyfriend.

She Who Received a Bouquet With No Mention: I'm looking! But I just can't seem to find a nice guy!


Ack, the ex-husband/ best friend, is calling this the M83 for lack of a better title. M83, the band, feels unrequited; says sorry that things didn't work out and I can't explain why. It leaves the listener hanging. By a noose.

Ack has had his head in his hands trying to figure it all out. Why did the Big Girl from upstairs, when everything was going really well, just leave? The only trace of his existence was individual wet incisor perforations where he tried to remove her jeans with his teeth. Ack's full name is Ackistan. He was christened the Stanopener. The Stanopener was gingerly placed back into the cutlery drawer where he shared company with crumb fragments and hardened encrusted egg yolk on fork tines. Jaws making masticating motions in air like a fish on its side on a park lawn.

Why, when there is opportunity to love, when there is a genuine connection, do people often unceremoniously bow out without a decent explanation? Of course this effects me personally because it happened to me. Last August.

Even though just looking at one another drove us mad with desire,
Even when there were deeply impacted hurts I'd helped pull out of him,
Even though we'd hear songs in our heads when we were together, the Boy with Kaleidescope Eyes still delivered, while heaving and sobbing, "I could never love you."

Meteorites large enough to create canyons often do less damage.


I'm 36 years old and I know nothing. Two days ago I felt I knew too much. I knew too much of the bad stuff and it was starting to permeate any of my inherent goodness. A few days prior I lashed out at the world, my forgiveness of human weakness in regards to the insensitivities they often demonstrate went on sabbatical.

But where does this all start? Not womb. Not just outside of womb. Mommies everywhere were teaching their Johnnies and Janies to share and be nice. I could lambaste corporate structures.

Here's a typical situation:
Person A is lower in ranks on the totem pole than Person B. Person B will often use his corporate clout to publically and privately berate Person A, who could have started life as the kind of person brimming with enthusiam, trust and real joy. Person B is a relentless suffocator, a bubble burster. Person A's dream is to move into middle management, so he sucks it up. He takes the berating, swallows the jokes at his own expense; shines Person B's shoes. Gives him a reach around. He demonstrates such selflessness (sycophancy) that he gets a promotion, finally, into the much coveted middle management role where Person A now finds himself with underlings. Eventually or immediately he feels it his right to do unto others as he has been hard done by. The spin cycle repeats. Person A melds into Person B. Their eyes register identically: nothing, nihilistic, numb. They are distinguishable only by the patterns on their ties on any given day. An outsider needs to be gifted at the game Concentration to be able to distinguish one from the other. Person B was no different than Person A when he first started out. Chances are. Chances are.

But should they be forgiven?

We've all been hard done by. Everyone has had very bad experiences. I think the measure of a human being has more to do with how one deals with poor circumstances.

This has been the season of my discontent. I'm not talking about being in a relationship, though certainly I'd love to have one very special creature in my life, but I don't right now. I realise it's not always going to be like it is now. And that's life. Life never stays the same. That's the stuff that keeps us going. It's not that I have a shortage of delightful people that share my life, though there is not a plethora either. It's a manageable number. This is the season of my discontent because I've seen inordinately bad behaviour around me.

Last night. Out with my good girlfriend, Dirty. We went to the Cheer's Equivalent, my current place of employ. I had just met a fellow by the name of Hiller. Hiller is in his 50's. Old school, ostentatious theatre type. Most likely a veteran stage actor. Embittered from the loss of his youth. Sitting with Hiller was a young lady to his right and Richard, a reserved actor/ writer who looked not unlike Pulp's Jarvis Cocker about 10 years ago. Richard and I had had a lovely 20 minute conversation. At one point, Hiller was talking brashly, loudly and accusatorily at Richard.

The Comrade: Hiller! Making friends and influencing people?
Hiller: [ picking up a pen and making 3 gestures to throw it at my face] I am practicing great restraint. Because this isn't my pen I'm not going to throw it at your head. If it was my pen, I would have.

I stared him down for 30 seconds. I burned his demeanor and every contour of his face permanently onto my brain. This was not my shift. I was a patron. Had this been my shift I would have thrown him out. I would have barred him from any return. I stared him down for 30 seconds while treating this as a social experiment. I looked at the company situated around the table. Not one had a response to his action. Richard, the fellow whom I had the 20 minute conversation with, only offered a roll of the eyes. This reminded me of another story.

There was an 18 year old young lady working the check-out line at one of the major grocery chains around town. She was meek in temperment; head down, a forced avoidance in eye contact; diligent in her work. I always make it a point to be kind in personal customer service interactions such as these.

The Comrade: How's your day going?
Check out Girl: Much better now.
The Comrade: Now? What happened?
Check out Girl: Well, it's really important to be as efficient as possible. I don't want to make anyone wait.
The Comrade: What happened?

She told me there was a glitch in her scanner earlier that day. An item wouldn't scan properly. After a duration, a man whom she was processing became frustrated. He was in a rush. Couldn't she see he was important and had places to go? Things to do. He picked up a head of lettuce and threw it at her head.

The Comrade: What?!

And then there was a scene where her manager had chastised her publically and the man got ushered to the special customer service kiosk where I'm certain his bad behaviour was rewarded with coupons or discounts or something of that ilk.

The Comrade: Were there other people in line behind this gentleman?
Check out Girl: Yes.
The Comrade: You understand that every single person who witnessed this interaction, this assault, is implicated. For them to have done nothing makes them as guilty as if they had each lobbed the entire produce aisle at you.

I wish I could be everywhere at all times. I wish I could multiply.

Historically I would rise with 10 fold civility, shake the hands of all the parties at the table and say, "It was nice to meet you," before launching into a calm statement of how I couldn't possibly stay for this reason or that. This time I said my peace before leaving, but I didn't shake the hand of a single person at that table. It wasn't nice to meet any of them.

I'm being tested. I know it. Every time situations like these arise, whether to me or someone else, I am looking at them more scientifically. I am neither Person A nor Person B. I believe ability should garner promotions. I believe kindness should be a given. And I believe those without honour should rue the day. My resolve is strengthened. Whenever I have been challenged to just ignore these vulgarities, I have usually retaliated with, "You see, if that was my friend and he was doing that to someone else, something would definitely be said or done." But the thing is I don't have friends like that. They are not vulgar. I would never have cause to say anything in that manner. Who I do have as friends are often those that don't say anything. They are often very civilised to people that are mean; kind and gracious to people that have historically done them, or someone they care for, wrong. But that's changing too. They see their impotence in their inaction mirrored back from my eyes. And they wear their guilt heavy around their neck.

And the more I think about it, the more I think maybe I'm not on sabbatical. Maybe I've returned. Maybe I know one thing.