Now, before any Vancouverites who read this get all up in arms- "What! I'm not a jerk! I'm delightful!"- consider this.
I go to Vancouver on vacation, to visit some of my favorite people in the world, and do fun stuff all day for about a week, carefree and usually in the summer. I eat, drink and make merry. I go to the beach, the Aquarium, for all-you-can-eat sushi and basically forget my worries.
Yeah!!!
When I lived in Vancouver, I had a wretched job that I must have accepted in a fit of total insanity, I had few friends, it rained about 80% of the time (I lived there from September to January) and I encountered a greater density of dickheads there than anywhere I've ever been.
Boo.
When I walk around downtown Calgary, and look lost, people stop and ask if I need help.When I was waiting for a bus in Malaysia with my friend Alisa, so many cars pulled over and asked if we needed a ride that we stopped worrying about kidnapping schemes and realized that people there are just really nice.
Wandering the streets of downtown Vancouver, people who notice that you are not local are as likely to stab you as sneer down at you from above their newly botoxed lip.
That's not really true. But there are a couple types of Vancouver jerk that really I've only met there.
Case study #1:
The Lazy, Entitled Jerk
"Stick it to the man, man!"
I am not an overly ambitious person, at least- I wouldn't describe myself as such. I generally think of myself as being "regular ambitious". That is, I will work for money in order to afford the lifestyle I would like to enjoy. I assumed, for years, that this is the "regular" way of doing things. If I want something, I have to work for it.
Simple, right?
Well, in Vancouver, there is a large, strong camp that believes otherwise. These people are completely immersed in the belief that the world owes them something because, dammit, they have graced the world with their presence. They are doing enough for everyone else by smoking pot and stinking of patchouli and squeezing illegitimate baby cheeks and crocheting crop tops and growing herbs and living in their parents' basements.
An actual conversation with one of these lunatics:
H: "So, what do you do?"
PSJ (patchouli stink jerk): "I live, man. I stop and smell those roses, you know? Life's too short."
H: "Ah, yes. Um. Jobwise?"
PSJ: "I'm not defined by work, man. I just do. When EI runs out I work at the coffee shop down the street."
I might be embellishing a little, but I really did speak to a woman who was significantly older than my 20-odd years who was convinced that the way to live life was to collect employment insurance until it ran out, then piss away time at the coffee shop.
I met a number of people like this when I lived in Vancouver. I lived in their mecca, off Commercial Drive. It was constantly clogged with hemp-wearing, anarchy-now! types who enjoyed the rent control and the liberal attitude of what is also the lesbian headquarters of the city.
This sort of person does not like me. Turns out. We have differing views. And as polite as I may have tried to be, I couldn't hide the fact that I was really, truly annoyed by perfectly capable adults living on the dole, as it were, while I slogged away at my stupid job like a normal human being. Was I jealous? Not even a little. I didn't want to be searching for a sperm donor at age 35 while wearing something I found on the side of the road on my way to the waterfront to look for beachglass to turn into "suncatchers" to sell at the "local market" (read: the curb).
Who I was sort of, kind of, a little bit jealous of was
Case Study #2:
The Yuppie Jerk
Now, I have seen evidence of this kind of jerk in certain neighbourhoods in Calgary, but it's sort of different here. In Vancouver, the Yuppie Jerks work- and work hard. They make boatloads of cash and want you to get the hell out of the way while they walk their toy dog in his Gucci sweater through Kits.
In Calgary, we have the Lulu Moms. These are the bitches who live up the hill on the West side (I'm talking Westhills, Aspen, Cougar Ridge...which, BTW, is a hilarious and apt name, if you think about it) and drive Hummers and wear head to toe Lululemon swag and are always in a great big rush to get somewhere, and you better get the hell out of the way in your little Echo you gutter trash, but I know that they're not going to work or the gym. They're going to the spa.
The Yuppie Jerks in Vancouver have just as much disdain for the commoner as the Calgary Lulu Moms, but I feel like the Yuppie Jerks come by it more honestly. At least they WORK for their money, not just sleep it out of someone.
In Victoria, I feel that there is sort of a hybrid, a combo-jerk if you will.
We walked around downtown a lot and while the overall feel in the city is more subdued than you would find in a more bustling metropolis, there is a certain attitude of "we are better than you" throughout.
In Victoria:
We are greener than you.
...even though they don't recycle plastic bags. What's up with that?
We are more outdoorsy than you.
...because our outdoor gear costs, on average, double what it does elsewhere.
We are cooler than you.
...after all, we live in Victoria!
We are more cultured than you.
...we have more restaurants per capita than anywhere else in Canada, or maybe the world, we have all this history, we have a huge museum that is next to legislature.
PS. Why is this picture on the internet? Sheesh! I disagree with you, lady.
Victoria is also home to a large number of people who make their living on the street. This is not to say that there are tons of prostitutes in Victoria- in fact, I am not sure I've ever seen one there. I could treat you to a nice 6-hooker night any day of the week in Calgary if we took a mere 15 minute drive. I could treat you to a delightful 60-hooker night any day of the week in Vancouver if we took a gander at a certain intersection on Hastings. But Victoria? Seemingly street-hooker free, they probably are reached by phone or something. Remember, Victoria is more cultured than you.
No, what I mean by people making their living on the street are people who either a) think that sitting on the ground with a cardboard sign asking for your money entitles them to a share or b) sing, dance, play an instrument or otherwise entertain for your donations.
I am a little harsh on the people with the signs because we encountered one young woman who was talking on a cell phone- a nice one, like a blackberry or something- and was dressed in fairly average garb, with her hair dyed and face washed and made up and a few piercings, and she was sitting behind a sign that basically instructed us to leave our cash at her feet.
I wonder how much I would make if I "changed careers".
I much prefer the buskers.
Mostly, that is. We walked past two very small children (like, aged 3-5) playing some truly abhorrent violin in front of a store, with their little collection plate in front of them, and two stupid jerk parents standing behind them. The least the parents could do is a jig or something to go with the music.
Shake that!
But, there are some very talented buskers currently plying their trade on the streets of Victoria- two different dudes play some fairly decent saxophone, several people play guitar and sing, and there are the perennial favorites: Darth Vader and Guy Who Dresses Like a Knight and Recites Sonnets.
Weapon of choice? Eeethoven.
I remember in high school CALM class we learned about different careers available to bright young minds like ours. Architect, Lawyer, Teacher...Busker. Did you know that buskers require a license? Did you know that it is sort of expensive? Did you know that in order to be a legal busker, you would also need to have an address and social insurance number and be registered to pay taxes and all that?
...which sort of eliminates "legitimate busking" as an option for many people who might seek out that sort of work.
But I digress. This entry has been about 99% rant and 1% blather, so I should try and up the funny quotient at least a bit. It's hard, sometimes, to keep up the standard- I re-read the entry about running and that's all funny, all the time. I might be getting all sapped of funny.
Anyway. The funny part.
We saw both guys who play the sax in Victoria on the same day. First, we saw old dude by the MEC. He is so-so. He has a variety of weird things in his sax case, along with the donations that people have put there. Later, we saw young dude by the harbour. He is much better. He does not have a variety of weird things in his sax case.
I was laughing while we were walking by the young dude, and Bob asked why. It was not because the music was funny or really anything about the young dude was funny at all, but because when I compared the two sax players in my mind, it sounded like one was sort of tooting away feebly while the other was actually playing music.
And I thought about how funny it would be to be a terrible busker.
Most people who busk have at least some talent. Maybe not tons- I feel like those with oodles of talent probably manage to find more stable gigs- but some. Enough to make a go of it.
But what if there was a busker who was just awful?
I want to get out there with my triangle and my drums (that sentence makes it sound like I own those things... I don't...who has a triangle???) and bang and ting away, basically making a racket and having a plate out for donations. I wonder if people would pay to get me to shut up. I wonder if people would pay out of pity. Or I wonder if they would just call the local authorities and have me shut down for lack of license.
I feel like this is a sure path to glory. In this day and age of internet fame, I could surely be the next sensation. Someone would get out their iPhone, take some shaky video of this crazy woman smacking these drums on the street corner, and BAM! There I'd be, on Ellen, chatting about my latest record deal.
I'm pretty sure that's how Justin Beiber got his start. Why not me??
Moral of this story: Tanpopo + Trent = Vancouver Salvation.
