I can remember it as clear as if it happened yesterday. I stared out at the lush green lawns and full trees that made up the suburban scene that played out on the other side of my parents living room window. I felt so at peace with my decision. Trying to find work in my home town of London, Ontario, proved fruitless, much the same in my, on again, off again home of Toronto.
I glanced over at my mother as she read a book, resting comfortably on her couch. I told her that morning that I would be moving back to my favorite place to fail in, Toronto. I said that I was going back for all the great job opportunities there. This of course was a lie.
You see, this is where we come back to that decision, I had made peace with. I wasn’t going back to Toronto for some great job or opportunity. I was out of gas, I was four hundred dollars away from being truly and completely out of money. I knew that once I had burned through that my car would be gone shortly thereafter.
I was going back to live among the concrete jungle because I knew that when I became a homeless man, Toronto would be the best place to do so until death finally came knocking on my metaphorical door. I didn’t want to live a slave in a factory that didn’t pay enough to even get by. I figured this way I could at least live to death in a more, interesting way.
L͓̽i͓̽v͓̽e͓̽ T͓̽o͓̽ D͓̽e͓̽a͓̽t͓̽h͓̽
ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɪɴɢ
I had a half plan and four hundred-ish dollars. I found this shit hole called The Palace Arms that I could live in for about a month and then, if I had no job or at least no money, then that would be the end and it would be on to the street.
At the time I wrapped up a failed career (thanks to the ‘08 crash) in manufacturing and before that I shattered my wrist helping contribute to a big pile of soul crushing failures as a musician. I was lost, everything I knew was a total loss. I really thought that I was going to die on the streets in the end, and I figured a high school dropout and over all fuck up deserved as much.
I told only one person I was moving back and where to, my old roommate Rylynn. Last time I lived in Toronto me and Rylynn had a basement apartment together and we became close. She was something of a little sister to me for a long time so, one of the few people a truly trusted.
As soon as I told her that I was moving to the Palace Arms she said “Dude, that place is like, crack central.”
“Yeah but it wouldn’t be the first time I slept in a slum/crack den.” I typed into my Facebook messenger. “Probably not the last time either.” I said.
Yeah, it was a dark, emo like time for me back then. Depressed people are always so god damned depressing. But she made me an offer.
“Listen man.” she said “Me and my roommate Beatie have a third bedroom for rent, it’s yours if you want it.”
So, in June of 2011 I packed my bags and headed to Toronto in my decade old Honda civic. Two and a half hours later I was dragging my shitty bag through Parkdale until finally I came to my new home on Spencer ave. It was late when I got there and Rylynn wasn’t even there, so I just went right to bed. Spent my first night on the hard wood floor, first of many.
I woke up tired and sore as fuck. I started getting my shit together for the impending job hunt. The apartment was quiet. The heat was making the rank smell of dirty hockey bag so prominent in the still air it choked my air ways.
When I made my way to the living room, I found the source of the smell. Strewn across the floor was four twenty something guys. all dressed in dirty black clothes. One had a small tool belt that he had left on from the day before.
“Hey Jae.” I heard Beatie say from the kitchen.
“Hey.” I replied, trying to hide my confusion.
“Can you do me a favor?” she asked while she scooped coffee beans into a grinder. “I’ll make you an awesome americano.” she said.
I looked at her clueless. “What is an americano?” I asked.
She looked at me completely dumbfounded. Her happy disposition disappeared and a look of patriotic duty fell upon her.
“As a good Italian, it is my job to introduce you to god.” she added another scoop of beans to the grinder. “So, any-who, I was wondering if you could drive me to the office so I could get my cheque.” she said as she began turning on a giant coffee machine.
“Yeah, no problem.” I said.
“I could probably even get you a couple of days of work if you want.” she said
“Fuck yea I'll take some work.” I said. I almost didn’t know or care what it was. I needed money bad, but I figured I should probably ask before I find myself driving away from a bank at high speed. That actually almost happened in my teens. “What’s the job?” I asked
“This massive Bollywood thing downtown. "She said followed immediately by flipping a lever, bringing to life the monstrous coffee machine with deafening volume. I looked into the living room to see how mad the guys in the living room where, they continued to sleep like babies.
The machine the was almost hurting my ears seemed to not even exist to them. She finished making coffee while I grabbed my car keys and shoes from my almost empty room. As I returned to the living room, I noticed the smell of dirty socks and dude sweat had been replaced with the best smelling god damned coffee I had ever experienced in my life.
“Hey she said handing me a small cup of beautiful brown liquid. Then I heard a voice come from the pool of people of the floor. “B, is there anymore coffee?” said the one laying on the floor between the coffee table and T.V.
She smiled huge “Have at it boys.”
“Sweet, thanks.” he said as he struggled to sit up and rub the sleep out of his eyes.
I looked down at the cup Beatie handed me for a few seconds and took a sip of the warmth my still half-asleep body desperately needed. My pupils dilated and nostrils tingled as the almost creamy coffee slid along my tongue and down my throat.
“Oh my god.” I said.
“I know right.” she said with a satisfied smile.
“I think I have met god.” I said.
(Ten minutes later driving in downtown Toronto traffic)
“AND NOW I HAVE MET THE DEVIL!” I yelled at the driver in front of me.
Beatie rifled through her purse while laughing at my dramatic display of road rage. “Dude you need to chill.” she said as she pulled out a joint and proceeded to light it.
When I had finally fought my way down Queen West, I had to jump down to Front Street then east just past historic St. Lawrence Market. I finally found a parking spot I was able to squeeze my wee car into and we walked another two blocks to get to the office.
The office was located at Berkley castle. This was an important moment in my life. I was about to meet a living legend in the Canadian Rock scene. However, this man was not a legend for his writing, nor was his legacy one of a unique style of technical ability.
“What do you want?” said the skinny middle age rocker, his death stare was delivered to me over his thin rimmed glasses as he sat behind a desk full of paper work. “I know you want money.” he said as he handed Beatie her pay cheque. “But what do you want.?’ he repeated annoyed.
This guy was a legendary asshole.
“Im Jae.” I said meekly.
“And Jae? He said. He was known far and wide through out this country as one of, if not, the biggest asshole in the industry.
“And he is lookin’ for a gig.” Beatie said stepping in for me.
“Do you have your fork lift license?” He asked as he searched through the mountain of paper work.
“Yeah.” I said.
“Dude, I didn’t know you could drive fork!” Beatie said seemingly impressed with my possession.
“Yeah.” I said back slightly confused. I had been driving fork lift since I was in my mid-teens. I really didn’t think it was a big deal. Just another grunt job for a dumb grunt like myself.
“Be at the loading dock of the Skydome at 0800 tomorrow.” he said handing me a hire package. “Please do not forget your hi-vis, hard helmet, and license.”
“Thanks.” I said. I was surprised that I was going to be working at the Skydome. I quickly filled out some paper work and handed it back in.
“Great.” he said unenthusiastically “you’re hired. Don’t forget your shit or you’ll be fired” he said.
“Hey.” Beatie said “you’ve already had your job threatened.” she said. “Welcome to show business.” as we walked out of the office, I realized something really important.
“Hey B.” I said as we approached the edge of the street.
“Yeah.” she said.
“What do you-” I paused for moment “Well...we, what do we do for a living?” I asked almost confused by the question itself.
“Oh shit!” she said “We are stagehands.” she turned and headed down the street to the car.
“Oh.” I said with a slight nod. “What the fuck does a stagehand do?” I asked, following closely behind her.
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