Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Tuesday, May 03, 2005 The Trenches Of Life

Seems every post I make starts out with me drinking with my friends. If I thought about it long enough, I'd bet I'd come to the conclusion that I should find alternative sources of entertainment. Thing is, Movies and Bowling just don't do it for me.

Last weekend I was training with the army. Spent most of Saturday firing a machine gun from a trench dug into the ground. It was 5am and I was watching the sun come up and seeing a beaver swim around in a small lake. I'm lying in the dirt looking through the gun site waiting for any sign of an enemy patrol. I can see my breath when I exhale, it could also be the cigarette smoke. My first cigarette in hours. You can't smoke at night, it draws to much attention. There is dew on everything. The sand is slightly wet from the rain the night before. But it doesn't matter much because I'm soaked to the bone. If you stay in one place long enough, mold begins to grow on your clothing. The wait is worth the conditions though, because eventually the simulated battle begins. I can hear gun shots in the distance and then the sound of large explosions as the artillery begins to drop. The gun fire increases louder and closer. Then the first sign of movement on the crest of a hill that meets the horizon. Green helmeted figures moving closer over the grass and mud. They haven't seen my location. To my right is my heavy gunner. I motion to him with hand gestures that I've spotted the enemy but not to fire until my command. I will wait until they are trapped between my fire and that of the trench about 20 meters to my right. After sitting for so long you become anxious to fire. The patience and restraint needed to prevent from ruining the attack is fierce. But the enemy is nearly where I want them to be. The sounds are now deafening, and the ground is shaking every time an explosion goes off. The entire enemy patrol is now in place and I give the command to open up on them. My heavy gunner fires a repetitive burst every 2 seconds. Hot brass casings fly from his gun as steam and smoke fill the air. The sensors carried by the enemy register a hit, and bodies fall as more move past them. I can see 20 or 30 soldiers moving toward my position. They've over run the trench beside me and I can now see their faces. My gunner is down so I take over his gun. I am now alone and am about to be over run myself. I've got the choice to give up the trench and move my position back to the command trench 30 meters behind me. If I can get there without being shot I will stand more of a chance of continuing the fight. I grab the gun and my own rifle and run as fast as I can. I jump into the trench and immediately set up the machine gun again. While I'm firing I can see that my old position has just been taken. Just as I'm about to redirect my fire I'm hit. The sensors on my uniform beep indicating that I am now "dead". I role over and lay on the ground motionless as someone takes over the gun. 30 seconds later he is also shot and the last man standing takes the gun. This is the last trench that has not been over run, but the objective has been complete, we've slowed the enemy advance long enough to count victory. A grenade is thrown and the last man is killed. A soldier jumps into the trench and sprays everyone with gun fire. Two more join him and begin searching the bodies and collecting weapons. The exercise is over, everyone gets up and moves to the commander to hear how it went. The realism seems shameful when I think about it. Soldiering is one of the oldest professions and while I take a certain amount of pride in my job, I try to be careful not to like it too much.

When I got home I did what I usually do after a field exercise. Shower and Sleep, its 4:30 in the afternoon.

I've got the next two days off and a buddy of mine is having a going away party. We head out to the bar and do the usual. I get bored with the conversation and begin thinking of wierd things to do. First I start up a random conversation with a real estate agent. This guy is a walking stereotype. He is a living, breathing shadow of the high point of his life preserved in every way except for the spirit of it. Docker Slacks, Fake Tan, gold chain, ray bans and sandals. Some time during 1989 when he was at his peak, something crashed. A divorce, bad business, it really doesn't matter because he has been perpetually living that moment since. He's standing at the bar attempting to hit on these college girls while they mentally laugh at him for his boldness. After about five minutes he gets the point, my beer has arrived and usually I'd just leave as a casual observer, but I want to know what's going through this guys head.

business-speak is hilarious. The key to being recognized by an 80's business guy is to use his name at the end of each sentence following a standard firm handshake and modestly compliment on their watch, sunglasses or some other over priced piece of shit they prize over the love of their wives. "Its a real pleasure to meet you Frank, and if ya don't mind me saying that's a real nice watch you've got there. How much did that set you back? Really? Well I gotta tell ya Frank, You're just lucky you're a damned good businessmen otherwise your taste would bankrupt ya! Follow this by a hearty laugh and the guy will all of a sudden be back on top of his game and forever greatful for feeding his addiction to nostalgia.

So I listened to him for a bit, learned a lot about real estate tricks in the surrounding area. Who owns what, what companies are fighting for power and all the dirty tricks he pulled buying houses from little old ladies for a quarter of their value. On the bright side, judging from the way he leers at the women in the bar, he's probably got a venerial disease he doesn't know about.

Eventually I walked out for a cigarette and some fresh air. When I got back Bandit was sitting at the table. Ok the guy is "homeless" although every homeless person I've met has had a place called home. He plays guitar and has been for about 20 years. And he does it with one hand. He'd be pissed if he knew I was writing this, but it really is amazing. He lost his left hand somewhere, but he's never told me the story. So he plays guitar with one hand and a coffee mug over the stump on his left arm. The character about the guy though is that he doesn't try to hussle you. He's never asked me for anything. He's sitting at the table, I buy him a beer and he's not really talking, just starring off. So I leave him alone. Never try to pry into the life of someone who's spent 20 years on the street, sometimes the shit they tell you willingly, will scare the living hell out of you. I go to use the washroom and just as I'm about to leave, he comes in with his guitar.

"These are the best acoustics you'll ever hear".

When he said it I thought he was joking but he sits down next to the sink and begins playing. 10 minutes later the washroom is crowded with people listening to him play. When he finishes a three song set, everyone leaves the washroom at once and into the concerned eyes of everyone in the bar. Seeing 10 or 12 guys come out of a washroom at once, I had to laugh.

This is when I realize Kurt, who's party this is, looks really shaken. Kurt moved here a few years ago and met a bunch of people at work, became friends and moved in with one of them. I've met his roommate before, he seemed decent for a computer programmer who looks like a giant biker dressed in GAP clothing. Kurt, sort of looks at me across the table with a mortal fear in his eye usually reserved for pregnancy tests and divorce cases. The night before, he was asleep when at 3am his roommate comes home with 4 or 5 guys he's never met before. They stink of cooked crack and are covered in blood. They'd gotten into a fight that night. One of the guys had just finished an 8 year prison term, which even as I'm writing this makes me think that's fairly strange company for an unemployed computer programmer. So it turns out that Kurts roommate stabbed someone. I guess to him it was more exciting than sitting at a cubicle. Not to be out done, "Mr. Prison" decides that's not rotten enough and repeatedly stabs another guy with a screwdriver, gets in a car and runs him over. Its one of the more unique ways of saying "I disagree with your opinion". Kurt hears all this and decides that a park bench down the street might be a slightly safer place to sleep in his last night in the city. Fortunetely for Kurt, he's so completely unphased by it, when he's telling me the story he could have been talking about his day at work. A few hours after, he's reading the paper in a coffee shop and discovers that all this is in print, magically turning his life into a rap album.

Just as Kurt finishes telling me all this, his roommate walks in and sits down. One of his new buddies is with him. Awkward silence does not properly describes the scene. Now all of this had happened recently from what I gathered. So sitting at that table was a bit tense. The table was a scene to remember. A biker guy dressed in Gap clothing having an extremely intense conversation about cars while sweating and shaking without once making eye contact with anyone at the table. To avoid dealing with any more random bullshit that seemed to make the night run like a movie script, I went outside for another cigarette and to talk to Bandit.

I'm sitting beside him while he sings a song and some random jackass bellows out "Hey One arm! One of these days I'm gonna have to by you a D String". This pisses me off. The guys narrow eyes, bald head and fat body only add to the fact that he gets his kicks from making fun of homeless people. I ask him when he's going to buy himself some decency and he cackles "never". I could have hit him, or insulted him, but I'd heard about enough violence for one day. So I decided to give the guy a casual suggestion.

"Choke on your money you greasy piece of shit!"

He was startled when I said it, turned around and left. Bandit got a kick out of it, but then started to remember what was going on with his girlfriend.

His girlfriend whores herself for crack. While I was trying to give advice or atleast listen to Kurt casually explain the recent projects his homicidal roommate has engaged in, Bandit was out trying to find her. He tells me this as we sit outside the bar smoking. He looks over at me and says one of the most awful things I've ever heard in my life.

"Imagine if you found the woman you love crouched in a back ally crying and vomiting. Then see that the vomit had chunks of semen in it and she tells you to fuck off."

I don't get bothered by alot of things, but at that point I didn't even know what to think. All I can really say is that no one will ever know a city as well as someone on the streets does. And because when fate gets its act together, it doesn't stop, that was the moment Jack Layton walked by.

Jack Layton is the leader of the Federal NDP and has become an increasingly important member of parliament. Before leading the New Democratic Party, he was a councilman for Toronto City Hall. He was noted as a peoples politician and even spent some time down at tent city which I mentioned in a previous article. Now after all the shit over the course of the night, he just happened to be walking by. Bandit knows him regularly. He decides to listen to a song. I shake his hand and let him know I thought he did some good work at Tent City. This is where he blurts out the most bullshit line I've ever heard.

"Uh yes, they had it very tough but they are really coming together as a community"

The contents of a soiled baby diaper has more substance than what he said to me. I told him he didn't have to bullshit, there weren't any cameras around, and he just smiled. Bandit finished his song, and the last thing I told Jack Layton was "remember this when you form the next government". He looked like he took it in, but he's a politician so you can never really tell. He stood up, dropped a few coins in Bandit's hat and walked away.

It was time to say thanks and go home. I spent the cab ride back asking the driver about Lebanese politics and wound down the night drinking the last of the Absenthe, listening to Iggy Pop and using a Christmas card I received from Prince Philip as target practice with a bb pistol.

Bandit was right in the end, the men's washroom does have great acoustics for guitar. To bad the venue is so shitty.

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