Mountainview RV park is a 250 site facility just 3 kilometers East of the Calgary City Limits. It is fairly nice as trailer parks go, with a petting zoo, a mini-golf, a display of exotic birds, and hardly a site available. The tennants here are, for the most part, not tourists, at least not in the usual sense of the word, perhaps, 'Labour Tourists', would be more apt. Here, for $500. per month you can plant your trailer, and seek work, all the while supplied with the ammenities of water, sewer, and electricity all included in the rate. At the same time there is a laundrymat, a restraunt of sorts, convenience store, telephones, and a mail drop. Not bad when you consider the rental rates to be found in Calgary proper. And it's, well, if not popular, at the least packed. In a way it reminds me vey much of the, 'Hoovervilles', I read about in 'Grapes of Wrath'. You must remember too, that the tennants here are the ones who've won the labour lottery, have a job of sorts, and an affordable place to live.
In my one month here in Calgary, I have seen so many people living on the streets, in their cars. Yes, I myself did the same thing for a while, and had intended to continue, at least untill it was absolutely necessary to find fixed accomodations, but, my car is a fairly civilized place to live; it's not sleeping rough by any means. I remember one night when I was getting ready for bed in a crowded parking lot, and a shaggy looking fellow rapped on my driver's side window. I can only excuse myself for the following because I was really startled at the time, and have been kicking myself for my actions, or, rather, lack of action, ever since. It was about 11:30 pm, and I had gotten back from a Toastmasters meeting, made a cup of tea, talked to my wife Julie for a half hour or so, and was just preparing to go 'jammies & nappies.'
The young fellow at the door was from Nova Scotia, and he had been sleeping rough. A heavy growth of beard, rumpled unlaundered clothes, and, to my eye, the appearance of being two or three steps beyond what the magazines present to us as being, 'fashionably emmaciated.' He had a qauiet, well modullated voice, that was well seasoned throughout with sincerity. "I don't beg sir", he began, "but I've been here for almost four weeks, and I'm completely broke." "I'm one of the lucky ones here," he said, "because I'm a glazier by trade, and I was able to get a good job within a week or so." "I'm making $23.00 per hour, but I don't get my first paycheck till Friday, and I'm flat broke!" "Could you see your way to giving me $20.00 so I can get something to eat, and put a little gas in my car to get me to work for the next couple of days. I never carry much money on me, and can usually scrape together $5.00 or $10.00, but on this particular night I'd spent my last $10.00 joining a Toastmasters club, and, when I checked I had only $.35 in my pocket. I told him that I hadn't found work yet, and was broke myself; then I asked him how the job market was. "It's good," he said, "there's lot's of work, but in most cases, they only want to pay $12.00 or $15.00 per hour; I was lucky, because I had a trade." We talked a little while about Nova Scotia, and, subsequently, about beginning a life in Calgary. Finally he told me he had to get some sleep in order to work in the morning, "but," he concluded, "if you need anything, I'm just in the car two rows behind you."
It was then I decided that when I arose, and I'm generally up by 6:00 am, I'd go get some money, bring the young fellow a coffee, buy him breakfast, and give him enough gas money to get him through a couple of days. If he was a con artist, he was a very good one, but I don't think that was the case. Unfortunately, the more I thought about it, the less able I was to get to sleep; in retrospect I should have gone about my errand immediatly, and I could have slept with a consciense uncluttered by regrets. As a result, I slept in till nearly 8:00, and the fellow from Nova Scotia was gone; I looked for him again that evening, but he didn't return. That image, and my failure to respond to it immediatly, has haunted me ever since!
Every few days I find myself getting a little down about my own circumstances; a little bewildered by what is failing to happen ....second guessing myself. This 21st Century is a bit of a mystery to me; I've never had to apply for a job before, when I needed one, there was always one there immediatly, no resume required, I'm not even sure that I ever filled out an application. When I first arrived I didn't look for a job till the end of the first week; I just familiarized myself with the city, and generally tried to get a feel for the place. When I did apply for a job, and filled out an application, crude resume in hand, I had a nice long talk with the manager, a fellow named 'Mustaffa', and he told me, "I can't hire you myself, it has to go through HR, but, you will get the job, we've been hiring too many kids, and they just don't work out!" With that, my spirits soared, and I decided, "Why mess up peoples lives by putting more resumes/applications in?", just wait and accept the job when the phone call arrives! But my phone never rang! After a week I decided I couldn't wait any longer, and expediated my attempts; still no happy phone calls! This last weekend I sat down and deliberatly responded to every conceivable classified, and, so far, the results remain consistent.
At the very least I now have a place to stay; maybe I'll just become a full time tourist! Well, I hope not; with the way the bank account is going down, and the credit card balence rising, full time would not be a long time! As Steinbeck said in his, "Grapes of Wrath",
"I know this--a man got to do what he got to do."
james
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