Your Morning Paper!

I had acquired the newspaper habbit prior to going to university, and, in the intervening years between then and now, have seldom missed my morning paper. It's the perfect thing to start your day with; all kinds of interesting tid-bits, pictures and current events, none of which have much immediate impact in your life. Besides, it goes well with coffee, and lends you the appearance of doing something socially responsible, yet not requiring that you abandon either chair or coffee mug. And its always coffee for me; I'm a 'coffee getting up, tea going down' kinda guy. I don't know why, but by evening a newspaper, for me at least, has lost it's zest; it's litterally 'old news'.

I even once wrote, briefly, a colume for a local paper; "Scrambled Brains" was the title under which I penned, and it was something that I enjoyed very much. Some of the local farmers whom I'd known all my life objected to the title, insisting that I usually made a lot of sense. I never argued the point with them, nor did I ever explain my choice of title. At the time I was finishing my final year at highschool, working full time, and trying to maintain a young lust; I felt just a little crowded for time. "Scramble" is an airforce term, and means get the jets off the field, and into action as quickly and effectively,as possible; time challenged, as I was then, I felt much the same way about my poor tired braincells, so I allowed myself only an hour to do my weekly colume. In those days I often fantasized about sometime actually working for a newspaper.

Shortly after my arrival here in Calgary, prompted by a tip from a friend, I travelled to Pincher Creek in pursuit of a job as small town reporter for the Pincher Creek Echo. The town itself is a lovely little community with a population of about 3,000, and tipped precariously on the leading edge of a boom. The Chamber of Commerce predicts a populations of 30,000 to 50,000 within twenty years, and the indications are there. Huge new hotels are being built; Walmart has found a new home there, and the place is bustling with imported construction workers. It seemed funny that, when I talked to people in the community, no one could put a finger on the reason for this sudden escalation in growth. They cautioned me about the constant gale force winds the town is swept by from October till late in April, and boasted that, "You never see a mosquito in Pincher Creek!" I don't doubt the last at all; I imagine that when the young mosquitoes graduate from the larva stage, and first take to wing, they probably don't touch ground again untill at least Manitoba, and, in extreme cases, Wasaga Beach! Doubt my word? Well, next time you are trying to garden in your back yard, catch one of the little buggers; I'd say its a better than 50% chance it'll be wearing Alberta plates!

The area is a great source of wind energy, with hundreds of huge windmills surrounding the tiny community. I looked at a few houses while I was eagerly awaiting my interview for the job, and found, to my surprise, that most wern't locked. I asked the Real Estate agent about that, and he informed me, "We have the lowest crime rate in Canada; most people don't lock their doors." I liked that, it reminded me of the community I lived in while growing up on the farm outside of Creemore; most houses were never locked, and most vehicles had the keys left in the ignition. It really struck me as odd, years after I'd left the farm, to return to find the doors locked, and no keys in the ignition; instead, my father, a non-smoker, would stash his keys in the ashtray, a very laid back security system! Yes, I thought that I woud fit nicely into that primarily agrarian community. I handed in my resume, had a nice chat with the editor, was told it would be a few days before they would decide, and left with my heart all a-twitter! I decided to stay in the locality for a few days; why have to drive the 113 miles back from Calgary for my interview? However, I'm back in Calgary, the job is still in Pincher Creek, and I never heard from the paper again.

I also put in an application for a job at the Calgary Sun, and this time put a lot of time and thought into my resume. No response yet, and I doubt that there will be; I believe that, in most cases, they already have some one in mind for the job, and just place the ads for appearances. Besides, one of the vital criteria was a familiarity with Calgary and the goings on here; my familiarity with Calgary is increasing rapidly, but still hasn't reached the point, as I lately discovered, that I can find my way around in the dark! That's right! I finally have a job in the newspaper industry! I'm a newspaper delivery boy, in training! It was easy; I didn't even have to submit that fancy resume I toiled so long over. I just made one phone call, and I was off to the races!

The idea of a paper route first occured to me in Pincher Creek; journalism isn't exactly the path to wealth in this, our 21st century. I figured if I got the paper job it would be a great way to suplement my income. At the same time, I'm diabetic and don't take medication, so diet and exercise are doctor mandated. I also like walking early in the morning and watching the world wake up; besides, if it's something you have to do, and you enjoy doing it anyway, the only way you could possibly improve the situation is to find out some way to get paid while you're doing it! So, with nothing else on the back burner, or even in sight of the stove, I'm now a paper carrier!
I envisioned myself picking up my papers, driving to a central point, flinging a pack over my shoulder, and marching happily off to leave a paper at each door. Well, bust my bubbles! That's not exactly reality; first, it's a very strung out route, so you drive to a street, park, grab 15 or 20 papers, flog them up and down the street till your vehicle is long out of sight, then rush back to your vehicle, drive 3 or 4 blocks, and repeat as necessary! Still dosen't sound too bad, but, keep in mind, I'm delivering the Herald, the Post, the Globe, and the Sun; you can't just grab 20 papers and run, you have to grab 3 of this, 6 of that, 2 of the other, and 9 of the last. Then you have to take each to it's specified address, and don't mix the orders up! I've never really noticed street numbers much before, and that hasn't really changed, what has changed is the fact that I'm trying to notice them now, without much luck. It's dark, all the lovely shrubs are in full bloom, an alarming number of these houses have been painted and in most cases the number is now the same colour as the siding, my eyes aren't the greatest any more, and I don't know my way around! Other than those few details, its a cinch!

This was my second morning, and the last paper had to be delivered by 8:00 am. I started this morning at 4:10 and was done by 7:40; I know that I can, with increased familiarity, get that down to an hour and a half perhaps, but, tomorrow I have to have everything delivered by 6:00, and that really means that tomorrow morning I have to pick up my papers by 3:30, and the blind dash will then begin. The lady I work for, Cathy, tells me that once you get adapted to the routine, if you are willing to start at 1:00 am, you can make $2000 per month. Most of this is undeclared income, Cathy tells me that she only knows of two people that report their earnings. Janice, the lady that took 2 minutes out of her routine to show me the ropes, and who does start at 1:00 am, dresses like one of the bike couriers you see down in Toronto and, with her wirey build, strikes me as some one who scampers very well. I never have scampered well, but she assured me, "The first few days you'll think that you are going crazy, but then it will become easy for you!" It's not easy yet, and I never like to comment on my mental well being, but my legs are sure enjoying it, and I do like the neighbourhoods in NE Calgary.

This morning as I proceeded at about 1/4 scamper, half way through my route, and having just hopped out of my van, a voice called out, "What part of Ontario are you from?" "Called", is an understatement, "Boomed" would be a more accurate term, and the cannon that uttered it was a young fellow from Toronto, very fit, and compact too, in a huge sort of way. He reminded me of a very heavy, tightly coiled spring; composed, but, if he happened to go off, you wouldn't really want to be standing too close. His name was Steve, and we chatted for a while; African/Canadian, his facial bone structure would look out of proportion on most people, but, on his face it was finely chiseled too just the right lines. Eveything was tied together with a couple days growth of beard, and a form fitting black watch cap. He told me he's been here for two months, and was beginning to think that he'd never find a job. I told him that I'd been here 6 weeks, and, from all the resumes I'd sent out, and handed in, I'd yet to get a single response! "Don't let them know you're from Ontario, Steve offered, "some of these people hate Easterners, especially those from Toronto. Then he told me that he had gotten a job at a huge warehouse, $14.00 an hour, working from 4:00 pm till 2:30 am, but, that with overtime, he was making over $1,000 per week; as a matter of fact, he was just heading into work then. He gave me directions, and I said that I would look into it. Great fellow! Getting off at 2:00 would give me just enough time to have a coffee before picking up my papers!

Just when you begin to get settled into your new way of life, comes reason to suspect that you may have made a major life blunder! I figured out my blunder this past Wednesday; the problem is, I habitually think of this RoadTrek as my own, and realize that, come my birthday on June 19th, I'll need a new sticker for my plates. I felt that that would be the time to get Alberta plates, and I'd do just that! Except, It never even occurred to me that the Van is actually in Julies' name. Her birthday was on April 25th. I had the ownership out here, so I called the ministry of transportation, explaining my situation, but failing to mention the unfortunate timing of it all. They were sympathetic, in a cool sort of way, and explained that the solution was simplicity itself; I could not get a sticker for a vehicle in my wife's name, but, I could have her send me a bill of sale, pay the taxes, submit to a vehicle inspection, and, voila, no problem! Try as I might, I just couldn't get that idea to flush; it would take too long, and cost far to much money.

What I did was, I mailed the ownership to Julie via Canada Posts' espress service, which guarantees delivery in two days. So, I mailed it on Thursday, and Canada Post assures me that it will get to her this coming Wednesday! Julie, bless her heart, will then get the sticker, and 'e' mail me a photocopy, and, at the same time, send the origional, with the extra sticker, to me, again by Express Post. In the meantime, I'd just sit here in my Trailer Park, and not drive anywhere till I'm once again legal. The fly in this particular oinment, is the fact that I'd already promised Cathy that I'd take on this paper route for this weekend. I have to pick up my papers by a Plaza that is host to, among other things, a huge Police station! We met there on Thursday to discuss the details of the job, and I mentioned to her that it must be a strategic nightmare being responsible for so many newspapers. "Well," she replied, "it's really not that bad, except for this last February, when she and her husband went south for holidays. Two people quit while I was gone," she said, "and another fellow was picking up his papers when the Police caught him with no stickers on his plate!" I 'Tut-tutted', and expressed my disbelief as best I could under the circumstances, and the fog of paranoia began to waft about me.

Well, two down, and one to go. I took this paper route as a trial, and don't get the actual job till the first of the month. Once, when I was in my twenties, I went to put a new sticker on my motorcycle plate, and realized that I didn't have the corresponding one from the previous year! I'd forgotten it completely! That didn't surprise me, especially in regards to myself; what amazed me was that, 5 years later, my Father, who simply wouldn't do anything illegal, and had a great head for details, did exactly the same thing with his truck plates! The poor old fellow nearly keeled over with shame and astonishment! Oh well, the subterfuge must continue for one more night, and then I'm grounded until legit! In the meantime, its challenging to scamper around a Police Station, in the dark, on unfamiliar streets, trying to deliver four different varieties of newspapers, with every one of your fingers crossed! If you don't hear from me again, please send bail!

james (the B is for 'Busted') Mackay