What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Wednesday, August 21, 2002

SURVIVAL FOR ONE

Having already decided to retreat to the warm bosom of retail, I've been dismayed by the agonizingly slow process of getting a mere clerk job. After two(!) interviews for a job at a Queen West bookstore and weeks of nail-biting, I was finally told (via my answering machine) that they decided to go with someone else. Fair enough, I thought, until they said it's because I "won't mesh well" with their current staff. End of message. I was reeling in horror over this, wondering just what was so wrong with me that I would be such an alien presence in a bloody bookstore.

I remained morose until a lucky appearance by my friend Michael Rowe, who simply asked, "Are you joining a staff or a cult?" and angrily listed many, many reasons why I'm better than the pretentious, unfriendly, unpublished poets who currently staff that place. I'd thought about calling the managers to ask exactly why my personality wouldn't "mesh" but realized that I don't want to give them another chance to put me down.

Fortunately, the staff at a Yonge Street record store feel differently -- after my one interview with them, they seem quite pleased to get me on board and I'll be starting there later this week. The pay is, of course, abysmal but it'll add enough to what I'm currently making at the pub to ease my current money woes. From that point, I'll be better able to plan my next move, instead of scrabbling to cover every new financial dilemma.

The only lingering fear is over my own relief that I don't have any children. How do parents do it? I know many people just getting by on their own -- how would they extend their resources to kids? The answer is, of course, that parents just do whatever they have to for their children -- a task that deserves more praise than it gets, but perhaps more exclusivity than it has. I'm certainly not cut out for parenting -- I don't feel I could even manage a dog right now -- and I wish people in general weren't just expected to be. It's a calling, not a requirement.