And Tomorrow, Oblivion

We’re driving along Broadway, “we” being myself and the two other members of my carpool: Francois, and Michael. Cruising to the mellow sounds of MC Solar (a Francophone rapper, whose alliterative lyrics are only mildly more misunderstandable than those of his Anglophone colleagues), life is good; the sun is shining, we’re hitting green at every intersection, and we’re off to our high-paying software jobs at local wireless company Infowave.

Or at least we hope we are.

An email the previous afternoon told us to be at work at 9, with a special “company meeting” to commence at 9:45. Translation: heads will roll tomorrow at 9, and those left standing will huddle at 9:45 to examine the bodies, before beginning the ritual pilfering of monitors and chairs. Punch and pie.

The drive to work reminded me of my orientation in first year university: look to the student on your left, then the student on your right; only one of you is going to make it. So, who would it be of our travellers three?

Personally, I was ready to go. My desk may have looked identical to the previous day, but in truth it was entirely different; the sum total of my desk contents:

  • one stapler,
  • one package of staples for said stapler,
  • one package of paper clips, and
  • one unopened roll of Scotch tape.

In a similar fashion, my computer hard disk was squeaky clean, freshly uploaded to my home machine about twenty seconds after receiving the email.

I wasn’t afraid of being laid off. I was afraid of having to waste my time cleaning out my desk before beginning The Hunt.

Scenes From A Bridge

Every day for the past month I’ve been walking across the Cambie Bridge to catch my ride to work (during the wonderful BC Transit strike), and every day I’ve participated in the weirdest part of one person’s daily ritual. Each day, there’s a man I see crossing the bridge in the opposite direction; usually I only recognize him just as he’s about to pass me, and by that time it’s too late. You see, this man’s ritual is to bark at me.

Or oink.

Or cluck.

Or say “Ugh!” like James Brown.

It’s weird. It’s not like he’s abnormal in any other way. He’s well dressed, carries a backpack like 80% of the Vancouver population, and carries himself with the air of someone on their way to work. Why does he do this? I have no idea. Maybe he’s just trying to exorcise that little crazy streak in himself before he gets to the buttoned-down work environment. Or may it’s some kind of social experiment. I wonder what he expects me to do, or wonders what I think of him for carrying out this bizarre ritual every morning. Every morning I leave my apartment with the intention of confronting him, but by the time I recognize him it’s too late.

Perhaps the man’s purpose is to spread this ritual as some sort of counter-culture meme; am I failing to uphold my social obligations by choosing not to cluck at the next person I pass on the bridge? Or is this some weird joke? Well, there’s nothing that says I have to take this lying down.

It’s time I clucked back.