Friday, February 18, 2011

My Baby Takes the Midnight Train

I pay taxes. Too much in taxes, if one were to ask me, but then again, that is the de-facto response from anyone who has a mouth and a property tax bill. When I am forking over the cash this fiscal term, however, I might take small relief in the notion that it is going towards something I actually want to support.

Anyone who is familiar with the blog is aware that I work nights (not for the next week and a half, however! Vacation: all I ever wanted.) With that burden comes the unhealthy lifestyle, constant aggravation, and lingering sensation of being a "second class citizen" because I fail to work the typical 9 to 5, or even, truth be told, some variation of that. I have long bellowed about the city's lack of consideration for those outside the normal work hours box, the diurnal preferential treatment, and the culture of night-worker discrimination that hampers our fair city; if work can only be done in hours dictated by the average stuffed suit, how are we ever going to gain a true competitive edge enough to really start living like we are the fifth largest municipality in Canada (I could scarce believe it either).

Not only does this narrow-minded view hamper our economy, but I believe it also fosters a more dangerous city; most crimes are committed at twilight, when people are tucked away having pot roast and watching Leave it to Beaver. The reduced traffic alienates those of us who find themselves traveling to work when most are putting on their p-jammers. Not to mention how difficult it is to get a decent decaf when I have to schmooze a business associate in the early morning hours (this has never occurred, but I do still want a decaf), all too aware my poor body needs to purge the caffeine in under two hours (another blog post will be relegated to the despicable, loathsome, pernicious baristas who will pour you a regular, then pretend it is decaf. FIE ON YOU.)    

Hey Lady? Eyes on the prize, eh?
Oh. Quite right. Thank you, Dear Reader. Sometimes I get carried away, imagining how many times I have sat to enjoy a quiet breakfast and coffee with my darling before going to bed, only to lie in bed, unable to sleep, playing castanets with my teeth for hours...

Right. So what I am obliquely referring to, is the recent 2011 budget allowance that includes $250,000 worth of accommodations for a proper nightlife on Jasper ave, by which I do not mean better bars. I mean cleaning up littering, public urination, aggressive behavior, and late-night transportation issues. I genuinely do not care if drunk people have a nicer place to piss when they finish their eighth whiskey-coke, what I care about is this: having to step in piss; about the tiny notion, however small, that I may one day be able to drive only a little, and transit to work at any hour; and, on those rare occasions I find myself unarmed downtown, not having to employ every available reflective surface to check and see if I am being tailed (I reserve that for my hobby - theme music included).

This represents the hope that I may one day be able to pretend I am a normal human with a normal job, and actually find a decent lunch that does not include the prefix "McFoodstuffs" (I kid; even starving  I don't eat that garbage.) One day, maybe soon, this city will not shut down just because the sun has gone to bed; maybe we will return to the community that earned awards for its police-community joint program; Maybe we could become a cohesive, formidable City of Champions that could rise together to protest when we are snubbed millions that were damn-near promised for an Expo bid.
Oh yeah, and maybe we will stop setting a new record for homicides. But it is mostly about the food.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You rock, Girl!
lol, mapa