The Bloody Doors Off

Tonight, as I took our dog for a walk, the strangest thing happened.

As we were exiting our domicile, another resident entered.

He said.

“Hello”.

I (think I) masked my surprise and gave a meaningful reply.

Oh, this is not over.

Maisie and I walk west on our street. Not much to see, there are flower beds strewn about, encircled by rocks. We pass what we can see of the garage, then the gate to our shared exercise room with the building east of us.

Another man was approaching. I quickly assessed, because if he was also walking a dog it could become a bit tense. (While she loves walking daily with her pack, one-on-ne she is/can be very protective/reactive.)

As we crossed paths.

“Hello.”

I mean.

It really surprised me. Not just one friendly greeting — on a street shrouded with trees that are starting to shed their leaves, the little shafts of light that push through the branches — but TWO.

“Uh, hi.”

It was. It felt. Foreign. This does not happen as much as it should. So when did it end?

Did it ever begin?

“When I was a lad….”

We romanticize the past. No one wants to remember the bad shit. It will sneak into your brain and replay grainy home movie memories, and oh shit you’re on a collision course with everything you ever did wrong, because you’re just a worthless piece of shit and can’t get a full-time job because most of what he does is outsourced these days. So he outsourced himself. He does make some money but just enough to cover his monthly debts and a few runs to the market and nearby grocery chain.

Hurm.

So tell me. When did we start treating each other as equals and delight in their company. Become friends. Did Grog and Thag come to a mutual understanding over territorial hunting grounds? Did your grandparents stroll along the boulevard, he with his cap tipped to greet passersby, a nod in response. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

It sure as hell wasn’t through most of history. People fought, for territory, on the orders of a mad king.

And certainly not until after the Civil War. Two world wars. Korea. Vietnam. Afghanistan.

It’s 2024 and police are still profiling people of colour/minorities (i.e. not white) through some cracked prism of who’s innocent and who’s neck he’s going to kneel on today?¹

Tonight’s greetings set off a visual carousel of images behind my eyes. And I knew. I knew. The good ol’ days. Never. Existed.

Will that be cash, card, or debit?

Our interactions with people are transactional. “Hey Bill, can I borrow your wheelbarrow? I gotta move some dirt so the missus can start her vegetable garden.” “One pack of smokes. $14.50 please.”² “Do you take this person as your lawfully wedded partner?”

Hundreds of years ago, marriage was strictly transactional. One father had a lot of land but he needed livestock after a plague wiped his out, and that guy who lives three days’ ride has a strapping young man (re: scrawny, Prince Charming he is not) marry his… daughter with a wonderful sense of humour and has child-bearing hips. (And, she had most of her teeth.) Twelve cows and six chickens and a rooster should be a sufficient dowry.

And Tuesday night. The motherfucking granddaddy of transactions shook the United States.

It shook the world.

The bastard got re-elected. (I’m no conspiracy theorist but there have been many instances of mail-in ballots being returned just before the election, and a clear discrepancy between voter registration and actual voter turnout. And don’t forget, Trump said he didn’t their votes. (Source: MaddowBlog, MSNBC)

That night. Democracy died in America. (Source: CNN)

Demeaning texts targeted to people of colour, that their lives were no longer their own. A popular extreme-MAGA podcaster loudly proclaiming to all women, “Your Body, My Choice. Forever!” (Source: YouTube) The protest at Kent University. (Source: Kentwired.com)

Canadians? The perpetual apologies and Tim Hortons coffee and obsession with a hockey team that hasn’t won in 67 years. (Everyone in Canada)

We’re not any better. I’ve seen/heard/been the subject of/to some ugly shit.³

But Friday’s breaking story takes the fucking cake. (Source CBC)

The masks have been removed, and more people than you thought was possible to be closeted misogynists/racists/transphobes/homophobic white men. Or as we say in Canada, the gloves are dropped. And two minutes in the penalty box for roughing ain’t gonna cut it..⁴

Please prove to me we’re not headed for another civil war.⁵

1. My white guilt ain’t worth shit. Maybe we could start with Reparations? ↩︎
2. I quit smoking in 2013, after my breakdown. I have no idea how much a pack costs these days. And don’t they come in paper bags now, the outside image so hideous you blindfold yourself as you take them out of confinement, and then place them one by one in their stainless steel cigarette holders ↩︎
3. Can you say you’ve never done or said anything, when you were young and pliable and your brain doesn’t mature until 25 anyway. But then you learn/realize that behaviour is fucked up shit and you hope that, when you’re dead, you don’t appear in an exact replica of Defending Your Life. (Source: YouTube. Watch the trailer. I wouldn’t steer you wrong. Albert Brooks is the shit. (Did I use that correctly?) ↩︎
4. You were expecting another link? Fuck you. ↩︎
5. Okay, I lied. Terry Pratchett showed me the comedic power of footnotes in his Discworld novels. I own a majority of them in hardcover. Fuck paperback. I am/was a huge fan since meeting him at Ad Astra in the 1990s (where I also discovered improv troupe The Chumps whose Star Trek parodies enthralled me to the point I had no choice but to take a free improv class to see if I’d like it. And that is, as they say, the beginning of a whole new chapter in my life. So I pay mad respect to the man who wrote 41 novels that blended magic with nuggets he would introduce to their world that we take for granted in ours. And you should also check out Good Omens, an apocalyptic comedy of errors he co-wrote with Neil Gaiman. Or the Long Earth series with Stephen Baxter. (Source for all: TerryPratchettBooks.com) ↩︎