The Bloody Doors Off

The blurb I wrote for this picture from last year’s trek to the Canadian National Exhibition made me laugh.

Kelly and I have been friends since what, the mid ’90s? We met at Big City Improv; I mentored her as she learned to call improv scenes from the lighting box. We’d trade scripts-in-progress for feedback.

And this is our touchstone. Doesn’t matter where in the world we are (that woman travels North America so often for comedy festivals, and her first documentary will appear on CNN this Sunday) we find a day to hang out at an amusement park that has seen… better days. It started with a bunch of friends, but over time it became just us.

And we have a running gag: on every visit I pose in front of a hot tub, as if I’m a barker trying to lure in unsuspecting marks and sell them the hot tub. (My wife and son joined us more than once, and one time he and I posed for the photo; I made him my official apprentice.) Until the pandemic hit, they had a stake in outdoor space west of the Food Building. The forced break caused some adjustments for the CNE, most notably the downsizing of the retail space in the Enercare building. The hot tubs were relocated, and, mask temporarily removed, we took another picture.

I contemplated ‘retiring’ the ‘Charming Hot Tub Salesman’ after our visit last night. I can’t walk great distances without (several) breaks now. My calves seize up, or my feet revolt. Not to mention I’m waiting to hear about surgeries (yes, plural) for my carpal tunnel. There are other factors at play, but I won’t get into it.

But this was my last hurrah. The touchstone was in danger of being fractured.

As I precariously balanced a bag of dill pickle-flavoured cotton candy, a bag of stickers for Marlo from Cry Wolf, and a large tumbler of water while eating an amazing jerk chicken patty (we wanted the jerk chicken poutine but they were out of potatoes). A thing happened.

I changed my mind.

So I might have to shuffle slower next year. I’ll probably still suck at that horse race game where you roll a ball into 6 holes to make it move. (I worked the Mid-Way when I was 17; and hey I never signed an NDA so I can tell you, there are certain games you can give a player an advantage. If you were smart, you could build up a little grift and not get caught. What? I wouldn’t do that…)

Even if she gets the documentation that allows her to be a paid stand-up in the U.S.

We’re gonna meet that one day a year at the CNE.

We’re gonna visit the Craft and Hobby building. I will contemplate buying yet more catnip pillows for the cats, and then here my wife remind me we’ve got plenty, so don’t bring home more. We will choose some strange culinary contraption to sample. (The jerk chicken stall also offered Thanksgiving Dinner poutine. Thanksgiving Dinner mashups are pretty popular. And bacon. Holy shit, is bacon a thing at the CNE.) We won’t take the Sky Ride even though it would save a lot of steps. I will continue to call for safety bars on TTC streetcars to the CNE because, technically, it could be considered a ride and we all know what happened with that dude who stood up on the Polar Express. And we will dig through hundreds of funny-image t-shirts in size 4XL (because they’re comfy) from Bely Clothing.

And I will “grift” some unsuspecting rube with the photo of me selling hot tubs.

Because. Tradition.