The many hats of Monday, of June, and of the 1st. June 2, 2009

Life is great, and so big! Many interesting things are happening in the close future that I shant elaborate on so that your interest is piqued, and because they are irrelevant to my today-hats.

It’s June. Today I could tell a new month had begun because frantic would be the tip of the description iceberg. 

Since my retirement began, (read… ten-hour work weeks teaching children who are still legally riding in car seats complex physical performance and skill with interludes of information on loose teeth and houses of twelve roofs) I have rarely needed to wake up before 10 am, if at all. The exception is every other weekend when I work at 8 Saturday mornings and 11 Sunday mornings. Let me tell you, this is dumb. I have so much time to myself which is bad news, generally, because my personalities have more inner silence and cerebral inactivity to seize, causing me to question my identity at more frequent intervals than when I worked two jobs and lost the will to eat. I don’t get anything done because my brain DOES NOT STOP. I’ve recently discovered, though, that I can stop my brain with stuff from inside bottles and this helps things like writing assignments, billing, finishing program modules, and other things I generally need to do to get paid. Win, and kaching.

But that is in the past, Cream Soda. The thing about the drug addiction and the eating disorders. I’m dramatizing. I think. Eyes forwards and onwards Cream Soda! 

Mondays I work from three until six thirty, which is nice in June, in an ice rink at the height of the heat of day. Today I woke up early because Agent Michael and I had an undercover breakfast to eat. Since we live in Vancouver (for real, like, it occurs in life…) we bussed to Main and dined in the 60’s before taking a photographical stroll through people’s back laneways. Because lately this amount of activity achieved completely sober would take me about a week and a half, I was spent by the time I actually had to leave for work and the only hat I had donned at this point was Photographer. 

Because of a hyperactive turn signal and the shape of the streets and because Vancouver is to traffic flow like Richmond is not, to cross south at Oak and Nineteenth, one must cross thrice as cars are always passing the south end of the street with general through northbound traffic, then a left turn signal for westbound traffic, and then a right turn signal for oncoming eastbound traffic. I get it, I accept it. It’s just kind of scary and unlike other intersections for a pedestrian. Today, instead of dying I got to drive an Audi TT for a total of 90 seconds. Afterwards, I had already juggled the hats of Survivor, First Responder, Witness, and Valet. I was dangerously racking in the swift accomplishments.

On second step into my journey across the street, I noticed a nice car pull up to the white line, stop, and on my third step a van pulled to a stop behind. It was like the light was red or something – turns out it was – because all cars in all directions had stopped. Except for a tiny white Toyota approaching the throng of stoppage in a fashion unlike that which suggested it would follow suit. I stopped walking at step five because to continue into the path of the collision I saw coming would mean I would probably stop other things like being alive. Seconds later a metallic cacophony rang through the pre-rush hour afternoon in two loud pops. Toyota into Van, Van into Nice Car, Nice Car into Intersection. Pedestrian alive. Meanwhile, lights are changing, so I ran to the passenger window of Nice Car In The Intersection – this is a slick Audi TT – to Scene Survey. Luckily, this happened a stone’s throw from VGH so doctors erupted from the shadows like fish from a disrupted reef and I let them administer aid in ways less questionable than I could.

Time sped up a little, and traffic stopped and ambulances surrounded, but the little Audi was in the intersection blocking through traffic and emergency vehicles and after the paramedics took the driver to the side, one asked if I would move the car to the side of the street. Could I? Sure. I slid into the leather racing bucket, the door shut with a new car whomp, and I stirred the wheel and kneaded the pedal down the street to the VGH parking lot.

Or, that is what I think happened. I remember stopping in the crosswalk and then my memory picks up as I handed the car keys to a paramedic. I remember the sun angle on the surrounding apartments as I waited to cross the street, I remember the vaguely uncomfortable stagnant heat of the summer city, and I can distinctly smell the road melting under the sun. I don’t remember any details of driving a car the cost of most houses that can turn more heads than a movie star. For a story, this sounds odd because the weight of the experience doesn’t correlate with popular values but what isn’t odd is the delicacy of life and how a moment can impress itself when the energy needed to stay alive pumps through your veins just as a moment can be forgotten while the energy hopes that the lives of others stay safe. 

Then I went to work. Teacher Hat, Mom Hat, Nurse Hat. Always know where your hats are. 

Life is great, and so, so delicate and small.