Shirley, Good Things Come in Threes

3 things that have never happened to me before happened within 3 days of each other.

It was the week preceding my big presentation at the teaching English as a second language (TESL) course. I had to prepare a mock 45 minute lesson plan for a class of 16 kindergarten kids. 15 of those 45 minutes involved a real teaching demonstration. Doing well on it was something that I thought about constantly and often got a nervous puck over. For the duration of the course, regularly scheduled dates and important relationships were placed on hold until the next available opportunity, which turned out to be weeks later. This included paid work and, sadly, power-lifting pint sessions with pals.

Anomalous Scenario #1:
As was having a mild anxiety attack: Should the presentation include 5 little monkeys, or an equal amount of ducks? Which?! I decided to take it to the road. One of my best qualities is knowing when to stop doing something when it's going badly, or around in circles. I switch it up by doing something different for a little while. Clarity usually comes during a walk. That day I was riding my bike. I was sailing under a CN rail bridge, narrowly escaping bombs by the roosting pigeons above. Thoughts of how a species that can court and crap at exactly the same time momentarily distracted me from weighing the swinging or winged conundrum.

For a few seconds, I was part of an angular hard shadow that the late afternoon/ early evening waning sun casts. For those who put in a full day of Trinitron gaping, subtle shadows within larger ones become like textured backgrounds in created 3D environments. At 5:30 on a weekday, when the sun turns into a Nazi interrogator, and when the only thoughts perforating grey matter is How am I going to close that deal? How many more ridiculous changes are they going to request? How much more hog must I suck?

Thoughts ricochet from how to stay on top of your game, to pitying your shitty life circumstances. 100 points for touching on your unbearable home life, 200 more for being chronically unhappy; you're the Pinball Wizard. The song that's playing loudly on your iPod mirrors your frustration, confirms your uniqueness. The silver Honda, the one you saw in the magazine at your doctor's office that time when you were waiting for the rectal exam, corners just as the ad said it would. 244 horses move in symphony as you turn hard onto your street - that shitty street with the shitty apartment you took on a whim. Good thing you're moving out of

WHAM

SCREECH

Oh, look!
Just when you thought things couldn't get worse...

You've hit someone
on a bicycle.

The impact knocked her fedora clean off her head.

She landed
on her back,
Thank God.

Then bounced back up
And said... well, actually yelled:

The Comrade: [who was fully prepared to throw her U-lock at the silver Honda if it didn't stop] Were you wearing those fucking earbuds while you were driving?! Because that is against the law!
Driver: [alarmingly calm, but noticeably shaking] No, it's turned off. Are you alright?
The Comrade: Look at my bike!
Driver: Let me take you to a hospital.
The Comrade: [ visions of 8 hours evaporated before my eyes ] I am NOT going to the hospital.
Driver: Let me take you to a doctor, then.
The Comrade: Buddy, this could not have happened at a worse time! I have a very big presentation this Saturday!
Driver: I'm sorry. What do you want to do right now. Do you want to call the police?
The Comrade: I WANT to have my bike fixed!
Driver: [aware we were not alone] Of course I'll pay for that.

I live in a formerly zoned-industrial neighbourhood. Housing was created for factory workers, so there wasn't unnecessary filigree applied on veritable bunkers. When the factories closed, unskilled labourers went on pogie (CDN)/ the dole (UK)/ won the lottery (USA). To this day, there are grease, blood and urine splattered taverns that dot the main artery. From 11:30 am onwards these taverns are packed with leathery former factory workers and their offspring. The pittance that is their pension or unemployment cheque is cashed by their friendly neighbourhood bartender cum banker. During my interaction with the driver, no less than 6 tavern regulars had my back, ready to pounce. They were all a little slow from rheumatism and the gout, but it was a precious gesture nonetheless.

The Comrade: Thanks, fellas. It's okay.
Driver: Tell me. What can I do for you?
The Comrade: I need to return a video!
Driver: Okay. I'll take you wherever you need to go.
The Comrade: And I need to go to the liquor store!
Driver: Just think of me as your personal chauffeur.

I neither went to emergency nor the doctor's because A) I think I know my body well and B) I'd probably end up with some incurable disease completely unrelated to what I came in with. I did agree to have him pay for a series of shiatsu massages (5 / 75 minute sessions) and, of course, to pay for my bike's repairs and a tune-up. Strangely, both my body and my main vehicle are maneuvering better post accident than pre.


I quit my job at the Beer Emporium. Quitting is not an anomaly for me, it's actually the chief evacuation device I initiate when employment is no longer savoury; I just needed a preface.

The Lovely and Very Amicable General Manager: (notably crestfallen) Why?
The Comrade: For so many reasons.
The Lovely... GM: Like?
The Comrade: The number one reason is because I cannot work for someone I have no respect for.
The Lovely...GM: [inhales sharply]
The Comrade: Not you! Your partner. I think he's abusive, manipulative, disingenuous and cruel. And that really is tip of the iceberg stuff.
The Lovely... GM: There's more? What else? Can you tell me?
The Comrade: I'd love to. How much do you want to know?
The Lovely and Very... GM: I want the truth.
The Comrade: (stepping into shadow, a flashlight's beam illuminating chin to brow) Are you sure?
The Lovely and Very... GM: Yes.

Anomalous Scenario #2
I was asked if I would do an exit interview.

The Comrade: It would be my pleasure. Though, I expect pints!

[Well, it's not as if the entire experience of working there was a complete sham.]

I arrived two days later, post shiatsu, deeply relaxed. It had been my first rubdown since the accident. Terry cloth pressure lines created a road map all over my face and cleavage. I ordered a pint and put it on her tab. She eventually escorted me to a table for 2 adjacent to the washrooms.

While I was systematically running through the bullet points of what I considered to be the restaurant's flaws, and this included, but was not limited to:
• sexism
• racism
• favouritism
• fickleness
• food so putrescent that it made one pee out of one's ass
• abuse
• nepotism
• bribery

And since she was asking, I told her that I thought that all roads of amateurishness led back to the chef. I included footnotes of course.

She was very interested and respectful of my opinions, but at one point I noticed her attention had been momentarily distracted. I turned to see what she was looking at.

Three feet behind me, in the corridor leading to the washrooms, was a man in his late 40's, crouching, while reading some restaurant propaganda on the walls. I thought nothing of it and returned to our conversation. Moments later, I caught that same man, in my periphery, walking away.

The Very Lovely GM: [whose eyes followed the man who was making his way towards the exit] I think he just took something out of your bag.

I'm reading Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman right now. I just learned yesterday that the amygdala, an almond-shaped part of the of the limbic system, was the responsible party in the following:

Without thinking, I leapt out of my seat, ran through the very full restaurant, jumped in front of the perpetrator, took my 2 open hands, threw them on the perp's chest, grabbed shirt and chest hair while yelling:

The Comrade: What the fuck did you just take out of my bag, motherfucker?!

The restaurant went silent.
Why does it seem like even the sound systems are cut during those moments?

The guy was at first startled, then shocked, then indignant. He wanted to prove his innocence right then and there, so it was his idea to go back to my seat and check my things.

The Comrade: After you... asshole!

By this time, a floor manager arrived on the scene. When I returned to the table, I noticed that my rather large MEC bag, which I distinctly remember tucking snugly between chair and wall on my left side, was now fully underneath my chair, zippers facing the washrooms. Keep in mind that this bag is large enough to hold a tucked 4 year old, and with enough secret compartments for a Harry Potter side plot.

The Comrade: Explain the location of the bag, buddy!

The perp had been pulled away from the raving maniac who didn't find anything missing from her bag. He probably got the manager to apologize for the rude and obviously incorrect allegation. Perhaps there was an offering for a free dessert next time he came in. Who knows? He was hurling enough back at me that for a moment I thought, Did I just make the wrong allegation? But then, the Lovely GM said,

Nope. He totally tried to steal your bag.

And then the amygdola kicked in again. Throwing my finger and screaming,

The Comrade: I know you fucking tried to, you asshole!

This time the restaurant didn't go silent, but I'm sure they were looking at me like I was the crazy person as the perp was whisked away by the floor manager. The Lovely GM told me that two weeks prior, a woman who was on a blind date sat in the same seat as I had. The date was arranged by this organization. Their distinction over other dating services is their patented 10 different dates with 10 single, rich, yet lonely, people for $1,000 feature. Not only was her date blessed with the combination balding head and hirsute body, but she'd had her handbag and briefcase stolen during the brief engagement.

A Recap:
1. I was hit by a car while I was riding my bike. [ Do NOT tell my mother! ]
2. I was asked to perform an exit interview.
3. Someone tried to steal my bag.

I've been thinking about this a lot. At first I was thinking that numbers 1 and 3 were only two things and that there was third thing to watch out for. But 1 and 3 were near misses. Then I was thinking, Maybe they were designed to help prepare me for my journey to China. There are 40 times more people there and I'm going to have to be very extra careful at all times. But then I thought more about it.

3 days.
3 things that have never happened before.
What is the common thread?

Truth.

Though he seemed like a really nice guy, the guy who hit me was a liar. He had been listening to music with earbuds in. He would never admit it because it would lead to a lot of personal problems if ever discovered. Had I been pedalling a fraction of a second faster than I had, I wouldn't be writing this right now. His response reminded me of the one I'd given upon the parental discovery of cigarettes in my high school pockets. They're not mine! I'm just holding them for a friend... obviously! God! Where I've always been a supremely bad liar, he's been a gifted one. He's in new media.

In his vision of the future, all television programming will look like this. Imagine watching Steel Magnolias, the hockey game, and La Traviatta, while receiving the latest numbers on pork bellies. All at the same time! Think of all the time you'll save! I love corporate evangelists. They really convince themselves!

Whenever I told people that I was going to do an exit interview, they thought I was wasting my time. It's not like anything is going to change. I didn't think it was a waste of time. If someone wanted to hear my opinion, I was happy to share it. Maybe it would help. Maybe it was bunk. But there could be no changes in the world if there was only silence. I learned days later, from the sous chef who had quit the day before I, for similar reasons, that the chef whom I had pointed an accusing finger at was beginning to look at his own behaviour. Apparently, he said: If we lost someone like [the Comrade] because of my actions, I'm going to have to examine my behaviour. I also learned that new sensitivity measures are being implemented against some of the "isms" I'd brought up.

Now whether I believe this or not, remains to be seen. But if I have made the path a little easier for someone else, then my attempts were worth it.

Which leads to incident #3. That guy was a born scam artist. He got off lucky. He only ended up with a little turd in his pants and spiked blood pressure for an hour or so. But maybe it's enough to make him think twice about what he's doing and who he's doing it to.

In the end it was the ducks that won over their simian counterparts. The kindergartners, my 21-65 year old fellow student teachers generously, though begrudgingly, submitted their will and better judgment to a person who thinks the world can be a better place if we held hands more often, sang loudly and danced around like pretty butterflies. They did put their foot down when I was trying to get them to Take Their Little Bodies Pounce, Pounce, Pouncing!

I think I got the best mark in the class.

I bought my ticket to China. I leave on July 13th of this year. I have no job prospects as yet. I'm going to wait to apply for jobs once I get there. Making plans for a year's tenure from a different country makes no sense to me. I'm taking advantage of the time I have right now while happily and gainfully unemployed. I'm getting all my ducks in a row, so to speak. One of the ducks is a kind reference letter the Lovely GM had written for me.

I'd rented Rocky Balboa the other night. I actually enjoyed a double bill of Charlotte's Web, followed by the Italian Stallion. Suffice it to say, it was a bawl-fest at my house. The last Rocky installment confirmed my excellent taste in the gigantic crush I've had on that character since I was 8 years old. One of the best bits in the film was, "I stopped thinking about what other people thought a long time ago... The only respect that matters in this world is self-respect."

I can honestly say that when I look in the mirror, I smile back.