John Wick
I'm not making this up. After a 4 or 5 minute introduction designed to make us "feel" for the protagonist, a trio of evil Russian gangsters (is that a tautology?) make the mistake of stealing his car and killing his dog.
At which point he sets about on a homicidal killing spree that only ends with complete extirpation of the Russian Mafia.
A curious, alternate universe, in which hired assassins all have a secret underground world involving hotels, nightclubs, and the payment for everything in gold Krugerrand's, stylish and silly, but really, what can I say about a movie that justifies a 50 odd person killing spree with a line like "You stole my car and you killed my dog...", and ends a line like: "No more guns, no more bullets" during a hand to hand battle that involves the villain pulling a switchblade?
John Wick, the new and improved spokesperson for the SPCA.
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The Mechanic
This DIDN'T work into my budget.
The car, after my rad hose replacement (2 & 1/2 hours, 2 hours removing old hose, 20 minutes adding new one), continued to spew fluid and so I decided (without evidence, as is my wont) that it needed a new water pump. The leaks were too far back to be the radiator.
So, when time and money permitted, I booked it into a well reputed mechanic, a lot of google searching, but I finally found one.
Tuesday, the 14th of July.
I'm not thrilled about this, I'm anticipating some rather costly repairs that I've been pretty happily ignoring.
And, sure enough, by 11:00 AM that morning the mechanic calls, the problem wasn't with my water pump, it was a loose rad hose, it's fixed...
Um, Oh...
And, BTW, we noticed, the muffler you wanted us to put on, well, it's not the muffler, it's the entire exhaust system...and there's issues with the ball joints, the shocks, the coil springs, vague oil and transmission leaks, brake hoses...he could go on.
I authorize him repairs up to $600.00. "I mean, is it worth it?" I ask, and he understands, explains that often it's sentiment, knowing your car, and I explain that I'm not afflicted with those for this, it's all practical, business, business, this isn't the Volvo, after all, and after a bit of hedging he agrees. Approved up to $600.00, he'll ignore the exhaust, work on the rest.
He calls me later, estimates $772.00, I haven't the cash for this but agree, back to the pawnshop...
The daughter, 14, she arrived last night, she's tagging along, a day in the life of Pa...
After the pawn and before the trip up to retrieve the car. He's looked at all the data, looked underneath the car, it isn't worth it. And so I'm just going to pay for the pressure test (fix the rad hose problem), and the muffler check. Under $200.00. And I'm in part relieved, this car was only ever a beater, not a project for me. and I'm glad I didn't over invest in it.
We take a cab to go and pick it up, the daughter and I. Take cab, the daughter arguing it's an extravagance, for me, it's a relief, the $772 Quoted repairs don't accommodate my budget...
...At the mechanic's he's explaining to me what's wrong with the car. He's got the overly intense stare of a Zealot, the crazy eyes, he's telling me again about the loose ball joints, broken coil springs, leaking shocks, the exhaust, the loose rad hose, the right rear tire worn to the point where you can read the legend "REPLACE TIRE NOW" raised in the rubber..."Never seen that before...." he tells me. The only tire I haven't replaced.
"Don't know who fixed it...., and I don't mean to give any insults...but..."
He knows, he knows damned well...and he continues, the brakes, as well, were recently repaired, they're loose, all over the place...they'll work, sure, but he explains to me how they should have been repaired, me, I'm playing along, the idiot, "Damn that last mechanic!!" I say, but we both know who that mechanic was...
Maybe I can sell it for parts, the engine, the tranny, their good, easily worth $500.00 as a parts car he assures me, but not at all worth investing in fixing. And I'm praying that it lasts the summer, no more logging roads, the first big prospecting finds will be sold and reinvested in a jeep,...
After the mechanic, the daughter, she guesses..."You fixed the rad hose and the brakes, didn't you...?". "It'll be a great car for you to learn to drive on" I counter.
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Xenophobia
At the restaurant, G, in preparation for his trip to Italy, has been reading every facebook post by every distant and forgotten relation. And finding disturbing clips, Italy, now overrun with African Immigrants, committing crimes, getting paid to do nothing, blighting the Italian Economy...
He's got a theory. Round 'em all up and send 'em home. He'll be the next Mussolini. The owner agrees, and the new Italian waiter, as liberal and kind as he is, depending on the "distinctness" of your ethnicity, agrees as well.
Me too, I'm xenophobic, I remember, as a child in a small town in Saskatchewan, an entirely white childhood, 12 years old before I saw my first black person (in full tribal regalia, I felt I had stepped into a National Geographic magazine...), the population of the country has increased by ten million, or a third, since then, mostly through immigration, visible minorities overwhelm you everywhere you go, "round 'em all up" I say, "Starting with the Italians...".
2 Weeks, 4 Shifts to go. I can be a little free with my opinions...
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3 Weeks to Go
Saturday, I'm a few minutes early, the last weekend of Stampede. 16 days to go before vacation, if I'm smart, organized, lucky, I won't be coming back.
The owner, he's outside, on the "patio", an umbrella and folding table sat out upon the parking lot, he's alone, an empty glass with the dregs of a glass of red wine in it. Is he drunk? How long has he been out here? How many glasses of wine is this? I say my hello, he grunts a response, time to get busy setting up the restaurant.
The hostess has been called in, less because of business (we're not busy at all, half as busy as the night before, no hostess or expediter was called in then), the hostess, an older woman, slightly younger than the owner, she's been called in solely to amuse the boss...
They play cards in the private room, G asks what they're playing for, the owner tells him "blowjob", it's not funny, was never funny, I've heard this a thousand times before. And the owner closes the door of the private room, no need for interruption, G and the new Italian waiter, they complain that she was called in for nothing, we don't need her, and I point out that they're both busy playing cards, he's in a mood, she's running interference, she's working for her money just like us, different than us, she's jollying the owner, the boss, and tonight, 3 weeks and one day to go, I'll pay her her cut.
They agree.
The night stays slow, a few last minute reservations, cancellations, it's Stampede, nowhere outside of the zone or theme is busy. After cards (and no one dares interrupt the game, the door closed, we avoid the passage by the private room entirely, no one wants to be indiscreet...) the owner walks through the restaurant. He wonders where all the customers are, why J*** hasn't dropped by in some weeks, maybe, somehow, we offended him? And it's not "we", the royal "we" is for blame and blame alone, it's him, his tirades and rantings about freeloading customers (he refuses to charge them) that sit on the patio with him, keep him company, drink with him while he gets drunk, while he complains about his child support payments, his children, his freeloading daughter that's moved back in with him, complains about paying his employees, the recession, complains about everything...and so it's not "we", it's him, but no one will say anything, still, watching him on the patio, alone, drunk, staring emptily into space, one has the feeling that maybe he somehow understands just how much he's the architect of his own misfortunes...
Rare to see him alone. Usually there will be someone there to ply with cappuccinos, wine, food, sparkling waters, some younger or older thing for him to grope while he protests his love for his new girlfriend...
...At the front door, sitting in a chair by the desk, pulling the hostess upon his lap, loud "jokes" while he makes excuses and pretenses for grabbing her tits, her ass...when she escapes she tells me "I hope you know how much I'm putting up with for you guys....". I acknowledge, I do, this perpetual innuendo, Pantalone forever in pursuit of his Francesca, and I suggest in jest that maybe if she just ... to get it over with ... Italians aren't known for their stamina ... and she tells me:
"I would if he'd just offer me some money..."
,,,and here, the sum of all womanly virtue. Undoing a thousand rants I've endured about the inequality of women and the abuses of men, agreed, for sure, but somehow this undermines all of the damage...
***
It's dismal, this, the new Italian waiter, on a Temporary Foreign Worker permit, thought that a change of scenery would do good for his mixed anxiety disorder, he was wrong, he knows this now. G, G, always G, I've figured him out now, he's completely lacking a subconscious, what would cause this? I don't know, a lobotomy, of sorts, cultural, ...
And J**** in the kitchen, Filipino, TFW, but he's now got his permanent residency, and I'm more than half betting, we all are, that he was dying to get out of here, that this citizenship the owner's paid so dearly for is more of a punishment than a reward. There are new employees, too, "Roxy", as I call him, 19 years old, slow, terribly slow, always distracted, daydreaming, worldly beyond his years, he assures me, he's a moderator on 4Chan and Reddit and the things he's seen...I don't doubt it, but the internet is no substitute for the real world, still, he gets my sense of humor, and fills in the requisite token Canadian member of staff....
***
Everyone here is broken, somehow. G, The new waiter, the disadvantaged immigrants, the customers.
***
A monthly regular, peculiar, older, perhaps 60, claims to be passing through on business. With a guest. Orders the most expensive wine on the menu, his "date", a younger man, perhaps 45 or so, they talk business, his date can't, won't drink the wine, AA I'm guessing, the customer offers the owner a glass. He's not a good judge of character, the owner has no appreciation, drinks the cheapest wine mixed with 7-UP, this gift is lost upon him. And so he offers in turn a glass to the new Italian Waiter, myself, explains that he's driving, talks about his business that is taking him from his family home in Scotland yesterday to Turkey tomorrow, and he has other Villas in Italy, Spain, ....
I'm suspicious, skeptical of him some how, he's too garrulous, rich people don't talk like this, tell you how rich they are, but maybe he's a remittance man, paid to stay out of the family business, I've known a few...
***
And T, beautiful, 30 something, fit, happily married in every realtor's dream, silk hotpants and low slung blouse, in for lunch, avoiding the owner's embraces and embarrassingly vulgar enthusiasms and gropings, here for lunch, her name on every bus bench in Mt. Royal, what is she looking for? Status? More money? Happily married and she begins discussing her online dating experiences with her date, OKCupid, POF,...
***
Countless others, few innocents wander through here, everyone here, one way or another, is broken...all are looking for something, more money, status, prestige...and I've 3 weeks left, I'm looking as well, for a way to get the hell out of here....
***
The owner, he's the most broken of all. Still, he's getting better, his rages abate, tantrums are slower, his ranting more prolonged, more ...well...but his friends have tired of hearing of them, the customers don't return after the inappropriate gropings, solicitations, innuendo....
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