Monthly Archives: February 2015

You Say “Healthcare,” I Just Shake My Head and Cry

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I have no “craving” to return to the issue of smoking on hospital properties and it seems a lost cause but I will. Let’s just consider it a “bad habit.”

I was on hospital property myself yesterday. When I left the architectural brilliance and heat of the building itself I noticed a gentleman in his 70’s hunched over in a wheelchair. He appeared to weigh something near his age and seemed somewhat compromised. I imagine his struggles are profound even within hospital but he was attempting to smoke in the wind and cold about 40 feet from the hospital entrance.

It has been minus “21 Forever” here in Ontario and yesterday was no exception. No exception seems to be part of the problem. This man was breaking hospital rules and even the old rule of not smoking within 60 feet of a hospital entrance. I don’t imagine he had a rebellious heart or complete disregard for rules, I think he may have been unable to make it off hospital grounds and the temperature itself may have been a further hurdle. If my ears nearly freezing are evidence of anything his wheelchair wheels may have been frozen.

There needs to be more communication between agencies in the region. When the Health Unit and police agencies issue a cold weather advisory and warn people to stay inside it may be prudent to apply this information to hospital staff and patients. It may even be important to ensure that 70 pound patients in wheelchairs have a safe and suitable place to smoke. Maybe the blankets were being laundered but this gentleman was under dressed for what I barely endured with half the exposure. This individual is unlikely to quit smoking in his 70’s or in his proximity to illness. It may be a bad habit or a long time pleasure.

We can all be proud of moving in the direction of a “Smoke Free Ontario” but my grandfather shouldn’t be run over in the process. He wasn’t my grandfather or I would have brought him home from the illusion of healthcare he was enduring. He is however someone’s grandfather, “bully for you.” I hope some idiot or at least the compassionate committees who have brought us this far find satisfaction in such an individual being tortured in the guise of health and healthcare. If you think smokers are going to hell it is no less sinful to expose them to anything similar here on earth. Perhaps we should pray on this.

I wanted to take a photo of this poor gentleman but I did not want to remove my gloves which he was without. I also respect patient confidentiality and it would have been a blurry shot as he was shaking so hard. Oh well, the rightless wretch will soon be dead and we will not be so uncomfortable in our conscienceless ideals. The grandchildren who attend his funeral will no doubt find peace that his last days were dignified and comfortable. They will hopefully find comfort that he was “exposed” to the most advanced and compassionate healthcare available.

I’m not saying hospitals are being heartless but providing a wheelchair becomes ironic and disingenuous when a 70 year old patient is allowed to suffer from exposure and near frostbite. I was in the same elements for a shorter duration and in an appropriate winter coat and I couldn’t wait until I reached my frozen car. This gentleman was under dressed and unable to access proper shelter or even stamp his feet to provide a sense of warmth.

I don’t know how we get around ridiculous rules but I would suggest those who are making them spend 6 minutes in a wheelchair, in a jacket, in minus 20 degree weather. It may provide enough exposure to uncover enough empathy to enable true compassion if not sense.

Is London Police Chief Brad Duncan and Mayor Matt Brown A Power Couple?

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Power couples can seem like intimidating forces and can be politically influential. I was following Twitter last night and happened on a few of London Police Chief Brad Duncan’s official Tweets. Apparently he was at the London Club listening to London Mayor Matt Brown’s address. Chief Brad Duncan made several Tweets and relayed information that was flowing from Mayor Matt’s mouth.

It seemed to me that Chief Duncan had already entered retirement and was either freelancing or employed by some local news agency. I think Twitter is a great tool to disseminate information to Londoners but I don’t think it should be any chief’s beat to inform anyone regarding municipal politics, provincial politics or federal politics.

I don’t care if Chief Duncan becomes a reporter or a repairman in his retirement. He can open a Duncan Doughnuts or even pull a few in a parking lot. When Chief Duncan reaches that point he is obliged to relinquish his sidearm, uniform and official Twitter account. If it is illegal to impersonate an officer it is near being unethical for an officer to impersonate a reporter. Possibly the chiefs Tweets are fair, ethical and proper but I would think Mayor Matt Brown and Chief Duncan would be unable to deny that the optics are poor and even the edge of ethical can be problematic.

Literally and figuratively if either the mayor or the police need to be “pulled over”, being too cozy with each other could impair the process and or result in a reduced fine. Considering that Chief Duncan is retiring I do not believe his Tweets or attentions are purely self serving but he is in fact planting seeds for the London Police Force and paving a path for his successor. Further, when the police promote the mayor’s agenda he may be inclined and or obliged to promote the police agenda. Both agenda’s may be good for Londoners but each may result in an increase in taxes or personally impact Londoners in other ways. What if Mayor Matt swallows too many suds? If he and the chief are even optically close or blatantly scratching each others backs it may impair rank and file officers in their duties. Londoners deserve fairness and objectivity not objectives.

If I could make a suggestion to Chief Brad Duncan or any other officer it would be that when in uniform or being official you need to remain on the appropriate side of the police tape. I would call Chief Brad Duncan’s attention to his own official motto. “Deeds Not Words.” Londoners really don’t need another reporter and I would expect that as a chief of police Brad Duncan would have his own reports and reporting to involve himself in.

I don’t care what Chief Duncan does in his spare time but if his hobby is the mayor I would suggest creating a new Twitter account where his name is not preceded by chief and it would be as important that his accompanying picture not include his uniform, hat or any other suggestion of authority. I don’t care if Mayor Matt Brown and Chief Duncan sleep together but when they are in office or acting officially they should keep enough distance so the hanky panky doesn’t screw Londoners.

I assumed the older individuals near me had been blasted by Bryan Adams from their basements throughout the 80’s by their pimple faced offspring

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A fine friend of mine took me to a Bryan Adams concert last night. I can still hear so I might as well speak. I had only been to one other concert in my life about 28 years ago. There were similarities and differences. For one I wasn’t infected with a severe case of Poison Ivy so this concert seemed shorter. People were using their Smartphone lights for ambiance rather than Bic lighters and the distinct smell of marijuana was missing. Possibly it was present but we were surrounded by retirees who may have traded their reefer madness for Robaxin.

When Bryan Adams came on stage over a thousand people with purchased floor seats jumped to their feet and through some sort of herd mentality remained standing for almost 3 hours. All it would have taken was the second row tapping the first on the shoulder to sit down but some mixture of moronity prevented civility and comfort. The event staff could have saved a lot of time by simply stringing numbered ropes to stand behind but I guess you need something to drape your coat over. It was rather pleasant to sit and be entertained and it reminded me of the more civilized hockey games I attend in the same building. I was appreciative of the wisdom that age enables being seated in front of me. I was also spared the indiscriminate use of cell phones and other blinding technology that permeated the seemingly different age bracket found on the floor.

The audience was a complete mixture of generations. I assumed the older individuals near me had been blasted by Bryan Adams from their basements throughout the 80’s by their pimple faced offspring. The individuals who were clearly born less than two decades ago must have happened on their parent’s old vinyl or heard his beat through their mother’s belly buttons. I do not doubt they too enjoy his music for it is somewhat timeless to teenagers and universal in its lyrics and lessons. However, I had my suspicions that they may have been fame magnets and drawn to any stage where they could claim proximity to a public figure.

Bryan ordered us to raise and wave our arms for one song and I felt like a prepubescent princess. It looked cool on the other side of the arena but I felt somewhat uncool. Even when I listened to Bryan Adams in my youth I did not and would not expose my teenage ego to similar potential ridicule.

Bryan picked a woman from the audience to dance on camera to one of his songs. I felt overlooked, ignored and found the gesture somewhat sexist. I can gyrate my hips at least as good if not better and it wasn’t exactly intimate with her remaining in her seat. Needless to say I wasn’t awarded a T-shirt and my private dancer practice was all but wasted. I don’t much like Madonna or Lady Gaga but I expect they might appreciate my gender and gyrations so I have ordered tickets to each on Ticketmaster which I am renaming Dancing with the Stars. Bryan Adams has a slew of hits but in my humble opinion I would have been a bigger one.

To my fine friend I say thank you for the ticket and for applying pressure to my shoulder when Bryan asked for someone to dance with him. It was an enjoyable blast from the past and a re-experience of some of my youthful memories and emotions. Music can be timeless and in this instance I almost forgot I am bald.

To put Bill C-51 in perspective, these measures and powers would have prevented the American Revolution

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As someone who speaks freely and at times controversially, Bill- C 51 has me worried. I have no terrorist ideals or sympathies but I am afraid the width of the net the conservative government is casting over us will not filter out legitimate discourse and dissension.

To put Bill C-51 in perspective, these measures and powers would have prevented the American Revolution. Benjamin Franklin would not be on a currency he would currently be behind bars and Paul Revere would have a hard time mounting his horse with handcuffs. The dissenting churches of that era would have been without the ministers who preached revolutionary themes. American defiance would have been defined as terrorist activity. Closer to home the Red River resistance and the Metis who argued against and stood up to the transfer of their territory would have been unable to defend their culture. The province of Manitoba may have been something different.

We can find complacency and comfort in the conclusion that such resistance has no place in a civilized and democratic nation but we can look at history and other locals and find grievous governments. A belief that nothing of the sort should happen in Canada is now being guaranteed by Bill C-51.

It appears that Bill C-51 furthers the agenda of conservatives more than the agenda of all Canadians. If it did not fit neatly into conservative vision we would be seeing something different. It raises red flags when the government is resisting in depth analysis, expert testimony and open comprehensive debate. Many prominent and professional citizens are questioning aspects of Bill C-51 and are openly being ignored or silenced with trimmed meetings and hearings. Why would a government ignore and muzzle individuals with expert testimony and who are calling for more oversight provisions? Shouldn’t a government embrace oversight to ensure fairness and prevent abuse? Is the need to push Bill C-51 through pragmatic or political?

I can see in Bill C-51 a remedy to a degree of terrorist activity and I embrace that but as it is vaguely stated I also see the ability of government and government agencies to quell legitimate though unfavourable or disruptive democratic dissent. Organizations, individuals and activities that we would rationally recognize as being non-terrorist can and may be exposed to scrutiny and impedance. What would have been previously recognized as problematic but not sinister or threatening to national security or public safety can now be categorized, contained and diffused using Bill C-51.

Individual freedom and the right to communicate, organize and express dissatisfaction with government, government agencies or even corporations can be suffocated if they threaten economic activity. Many will consider themselves unaffected in their conservative comfort but what would happen and how would democracy operate or be disabled if we find a distasteful or fanatical government at the helm. It is not beyond the realm of possibilities for an overbearing faction to find itself in power. There are those that enjoy Stephen Harper but what if the NDP formed government and their leader lost his or her marbles? Would we have the ability to rise against or resist the potential chaos?

Presently, we can collude with others and organize and implement civil disobedience and even enact a degree of economic disruption to further our message and gain support or bring about the change we seek. Following 3 days of debate you could find your phone tapped or be detained because of your efforts. My fears are not for terrorists or for myself; they are for any citizen or group of citizens who may be unable to avail themselves of dissension, assembly and demonstration.

I am uncomfortable with security and police agencies under the direction of government deciding what is inherently dangerous. The potential for abuse exists and perceptions of what is terrorist activity can change according to time, place and circumstance. Further, it can be influenced by government. We can find some comfort that judges may be given this oversight but judges are not elected.

I do not advocate violence in any form but under Bill C-51 if I argue in favour of violence without directly urging it I will be the subject of a cavity search and more. If I say the Ukraine should resist Russia with violence does not directly threaten violence. I would simply be expressing an argument and leaving others to decide on its merits. This is not terrorism it is free speech. If you believe these measure will only be used on cowards who behead innocents I think you have lost yours.

We can argue that in a democracy we have the power and ability to remove unsavory governments using the voting system. What if government alters that ability? What if a term of office is altered by the government itself? Stephen Harper has done these things. No? What if waiting the length of the term would be catastrophic? Consider the changes a moderate party and government can enact in a term of office. Someone or a group in power could be mad and do more. Canadian’s don’t elect madmen but sometimes power itself corrupts and one is created. Should Canadians have the ability to overthrow a government?

If the ability to demonstrate and apply pressure on government is removed or impaired to any extent democracy itself is undermined. One person, one vote is a premise of democracy but protest is a promise that propels change and even if disruptive can be a protection for us all.

Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) Mental Health Strategy, Ect.

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I don’t often advocate for the police. They have unions and each other so I don’t view them as disadvantaged or marginalized. They are not on my radar so to speak 🙂 I usually defend those who are unable to stand up for themselves or who do not have the opportunities and advantages that I do.

In my recent encounter with Ontario Provincial Police officers I have softened and expanded some of my views. Few of us have the honour or opportunity to share a meal with the police and their humanity is nourishment itself. I don’t want to disappoint those who find me a refreshing prick with a pen but I have a few points for us all to consider.

Most people do not know that since I was a child, I dreamed of being employed in law enforcement. I know of few better examples of irony. I also have several friends from my youth who are police officers. I can name at least seven who I played high school football with. I am fairly outspoken regarding tragedies that involve mental health but do not think I would not be as upset to hear of an officer falling in the line of duty.

Many of us have an uninformed sense of what the police are like. They are the brutes who give us speeding tickets. I agree that it is an annoying pastime of theirs but they are attempting to keep their families safe as well as yours. We do not blame the baker for making us fat.

Like everyone I am influenced by the media. With the media preoccupation with the sensational we are force fed and filled with any and many officer mistakes. To make an analogy it is no different than hearing that the Toronto Maple Leafs have actually won a game and concluding that they are having a great season.

I tried digging up some real numbers to provide some perspective and fairness. There are over 26 thousand police officers in Ontario. The few we hear about as having fallen short in their duties would be statistically minute and invisible on almost any graph.

I was aware that police officers are trained and informed that a person with a knife can be lethal at a range of 15 to 20 feet. I might be spatially disabled under such conditions. Officers are trained to use lethal force in these instances. I will still argue that a greater distance should be maintained where possible and appropriate but it is comprehensible that such situations do not always work out. I would imagine that any officer who had to make a lethal decision would be haunted by such and it is understandable why officers also suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I have argued against the use of Tasers on mentally ill individuals as they are often disabled and it is a health condition. We need to guard against Tasers being used too often but in speaking with an officer I see their value. An individual with a knife who charges at a distance of 20 feet will still reach the officer even when shot with a gun. This is a no win situation. The Taser if successful will stop that same individual in their tracks. I would rather have to deal with psychological and temporary agony than find myself and or someone trying to help me in a coffin. I have a family as do they. The consequences of the lethal use of a firearm are far reaching.

We can point out that 92% of officer fatalities are committed with a firearm or that police homicides occur 23% of the time involving robberies and 3% occur apprehending psychiatric patients but I’m not sure those numbers would make me feel better if I was faced with a knife and I am unlikely to call on statistics or probabilities when I see that knife waved in my proximity. Any weapon is problematic.

I could only find numbers from Vancouver but they may still be relevant. One third of all police calls involve people with mental health issues. Let’s assume that the Ontario Provincial Police are dealing with similar numbers. I think the police have been put in a place and are being called on to remedy issues that are not theirs to own. Mental health is increasingly involving agencies that were never meant to be mental health service providers; police and corrections.

We can scream and shout at them both but the solution doesn’t entirely lay with altering what they do. We need a number other than 911 to call and we need to prevent and protect individuals from entering the justice system as a result of their addictions and mental health issues. Thirty percent of individuals come into contact with the police in their first experience trying to access mental health care. We don’t change the diaper when an infant needs to be burped.

There are agencies better suited to serve the mental health needs of Ontarians. These organizations and agencies need to be better coordinated, better funded and more accessible. To keep things as they are is monumentally more expensive fiscally and socially. We will have less need to call 911 if mental health care can be obtained prior to crisis. The police will always have a place and we need to be grateful for that. It is an unenviable position and a difficult duty. It is unfair to the police and Ontarians to make police an automatic selection for mental health issues.

I am showing my support to the Ontario Provincial Police not because I now know several more outstanding officers but because I deeply desire better outcomes for Ontarians. I will still point out problems and they may be the target of my often sharp and ill timed sense of humour but in the case of the Ontario Provincial Police and specifically the Elgin County Detachment I see compassion, promise and an active engagement in improving the mental health outcomes of Ontarians. Is the Ontario Provincial Police Mental Health Strategy perfect? Possibly not but I am inspired and I believe community stakeholders can co-operate and implement something of an improvement.

The quarterback doesn’t throw the ball because he is incompetent or incapable of making headway; he knows the receiver stands the best chance of the most advancement. Community stakeholders are the wide receivers. We have been calling the police for help with mental health matters for decades. Community stakeholders are now being called on. I believe they can handle the pass.

We Can Find A Limp In Anyone But Especially When We Use Our Own Gait As A Measure

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I was checking out Twitter and clicked on a link to:

“6 Things That I Have Noticed About People Who Change and Recover From Mental Illness.”

I was excited by the prospect of change and recovery. After I battled with the Pop-Up screens where Barry Pearman was flogging his free book, the wind was knocked out of me. Barry’s first life changing “great stride” was:

1) They make their bed every morning.

Just before I was about to flush my anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers and anti-depressants down the toilet I thought about it for a minute. I started to wonder how many individuals Barry Pearman has seen change and recover. My next question was what the hell is Barry doing in all these bedrooms? Is he a sleuth or a slut?

According to Barry I shouldn’t “drift into the day” but like the Navy Seals who are renowned therapists in his world, I should start my day with “a drilled in positive habit.” I have had suicidal months and been immobilized by depression. It was not a matter of preferring to stay in bed; I in fact could barely get out. Had I owned a bedpan I would have used it. I have also been psychotic and my bed was as likely to have been a magic carpet as anything I would tidy and tuck.

Dear Barry,

If you are going to speak about mental illness please consider the vast array of degrees and diagnoses. What you consider positive may be worlds away from what I value or consider positive. I don’t make my bed for the same reason I do not do the zippers up on my pants when I fold and put them in the drawer. It is to me slightly illogical, a waste of my time and a pointless make work project. When I do not pull my sheets up and tuck them in each morning it enables me to refrain from pulling them back out each evening. You say illness I say efficiency.

I’m sure you’re sure I am destined to a state of illness but I personally look back at my life and see that I have “changed” my mental illness and I have enjoyed prolonged periods of recovery. Obviously this has nothing to do with making my bed.

I am as illiterate as you but in my estimation recovery is not always a destination. Further, it is my belief that recovery is a highly personalized process that can be different for each of us. I can look at another person with mental illness and “should” on them but their habits and efficacies can still qualify them as recovering or recovered. Some individuals with or without mental illness are comfortable to leave mustard on their shirts. We can find a limp in anyone but especially when we use our own gait as a measure. If any measure is to be used it must originate mainly in the individual. If an individual with or without mental illness is able to find meaning and arrive at whatever points of personal satisfaction they set out for themselves they are in no small way thriving. Is it “change” or recovery? I cannot answer that and neither “should” you.

Kind regards,
Brett

I Use Christ as a Benchmark and Pull Back the Arrow Once More

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I was thinking about God and or specifically Jesus Christ. He was a remarkable figure and I in no way want to disparage or disgrace His Spirit or messages. Any who know me would assume that was a given.

To a degree I understand His sinless nature and I recognize that in giving His life I was spared. He should have been elevated and celebrated when He was alive but He died betrayed, abandoned and with something less than the dignity He deserved. That is part of the story and in no small way one of the reasons I am drawn to Him.

I was thinking, He was flesh and bone-a human-a man. My understanding is He knew what it meant to be human, excelled at it and was even exposed to temptation. At the same time “to err is human.” His sinless nature does not separate me from Him but in a subtle way it does. I take comfort that He understands my pain and struggles and I believe He is often a presence in my life. I was simply wondering if He really does understand me. He did not sin so possibly He does not know what it means to feel shame, guilt or regret. I think He knew and knows more about forgiveness than anyone before or after but did He know about extending forgiveness to self?

I’m not saying the story would have been better if when He hit His thumb with the hammer He threw it, cursed and kicked the cat but I would have been drawn to that as well. Maybe it would have made His sacrifice impossible or impaired it somehow but if I knew He said, “Wow, that was stupid of me” or “sorry I messed up, I did not mean to hurt you but I have.” “I failed there but I will do better next time.” That would have inspired me to do better as well.

Maybe it would relieve some of the pressure to do and be perfect. To never sin is a worthy aim but to miss the mark often hones the aim and creates efficacy. I keep trying because I do miss the mark. I would sit on my sorry ass if I hit it the first time. I do not throw my hands up and say “I have fallen short, it’s over, I am disqualified.” I use Christ as a benchmark and pull back the arrow once more.

I say and do the wrong things fairly consistently. I am a blind archer but in my heart I believe God finds satisfaction in my persistence. I have a conscience and I sometimes shake my head at myself but I also laugh at myself. I’m hoping God is so busy helping you that He doesn’t notice me. “What have you been up to Brett?” “Who me?” “Oh a little of this and a little of that-you know the usual.” “Maybe we should talk about that.” “Sure. I’ll pencil you in.” I hope Jesus and God get me. Humour aside, I do hope they watch me once in a while and say: “Well, at least he’s entertaining.”

With all due respect, thanks for making me think God.

Since my neck was not in a noose (though he had no way of knowing) he didn’t know who to call or what to do.

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Some names have been changed or omitted to protect the idiotic.

As some of my readers will be aware I was not in a good place mentally last week. One of the individuals who reached out to me asked around for some assistance for me. I ended up with a number to a local agency who provides a Crisis Response Line. I am feeling somewhat better and it is counterintuitive for me to reach out as assistance has not always been so.

I called the Crisis Line and ended up speaking to Barney. I explained my recent difficulties and was inquiring about what services I could access. I wasn’t crying which seemed to confuse Barney. I asked if he was a counselor and he explained he had some training but was not a counselor. He searched for some numbers and suggested next time I should call the Distress Line. “Oh, so who would I end up speaking with if I called the Distress Line?” ”ME” was his answer. What the hell? I wanted to reach out and shake his head for him. Firstly, when I am unwell I might not have the insight into whether I am in crisis or distress. They are literally and figuratively the same damn area code. Further, what is logical or logistical to his mandate and procedures are irrelevant to someone in crisis or distress. I would never tell Barney what to do but I would recommend suggesting the value in reaching out rather than suggesting what he values.

I told Barney some of my story and he could have easily engaged me. He was given several paragraphs to build a conversation. I was silent a few times which were long and awkward and I could sense Barney’s discomfort. The only input he made into the conversation was to inform me “we are here to listen not make you feel better.” What the hell? They might as well use an answering machine if all they do is listen. Wouldn’t a few well placed questions uncover the extent of my crisis or distress?

This gentleman knew and found out nothing about me including my name. What supports do you presently have? Do you have a family physician? Are you able to access services? Do you live alone? Are you in a safe environment? Have you ever been suicidal? Are you able to care for yourself? Are you on any medications? Are you having any disturbances of thought? Are you experiencing hallucinations?

If we are going to train these individuals to refrain from attempting to alleviate difficulties or offer advice we should definitely train them not to make assumptions about the degree of crisis or distress an individual may or may not be experiencing. The consequences could be tragic. I was safe and possibly he interpreted me as healthy. I can baffle you with brilliance in full blown psychosis. People don’t call these numbers to order ice cream. I realize he was not a professional which is a problem in itself. There are often not answers or solutions but being an ear doesn’t do much good when I need a comforting voice.

Barney was uncomfortable that I was waiting for him to speak as I believe that was his training. I can tell when someone is directing me to end a conversation and I believe that since my neck was not in a noose (though he had no way of knowing) he didn’t know who to call or what to do. What is your phone number? I will pass on your contact information to a colleague who is aware of community supports.

Barney was mainly giving me information about support groups which I have an aversion to. My mental health is private and some of the things I struggle with are best not spit out in a circle of chairs. Some of these groups are simply the blind leading the blind. I don’t need Darlene’s insight; she’s a damn basket case though I’m sure she knows what is good for me.

I almost feel like jumping off a bridge but I’m going to hunt down Barney first to time the fall. I am not personally upset but I am seriously alarmed for my community. If I call 911 for a physical crisis they do not say “were here to listen until the ambulance arrives.” After determining the severity of the situation they offer immediate and useful first aid information where appropriate. Further, highly trained individuals follow up on the call.

I understand budget constraints. I believe in the value of peer support and volunteers make the world go round but Barney might not be the best person for someone in crisis or distress. My first impression of him is that he probably has difficulty in a drive-through. We would be alarmed if any or even initial acute contact regarding physical health was taking place under the direction of volunteers with a crash course in health care. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

Elgin County Detachment of the Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) Strategy Meeting with Community Stakeholders

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Like most people many days are the same for me. We all endure a degree of drudgery and duplicity. I had a slight vacation from the mediocre today. I was the keynote speaker at the Elgin County Detachment of the Ontario Provincial Police Mental Health Strategy Meeting with Community Stakeholders. It seems logical that someone with experience in mental illness and the justice system would be invited to address individuals who are involved in these areas but the whole scenario was for me surreal.

I showed up a little early today as I believe dreams should not be ignored. When I arrived I was invited to sit with 6 Ontario Provincial Police officers at a table. Part of me wanted to run and part of me wanted to text all my friends and post pictures on twitter. The officers were in full uniform and most of them had the white shirts of command. I was cognizant of the fact that they could handcuff me before I said Mississippi. I considered losing my shirt and tie to fit in as my undershirt was white as well. I was a little self conscious about displaying “Fruit of the Loom” next to the more glamorous crest of the OPP. Besides it wasn’t pressed and was barely clean so I clung to the dignity of my cheap suit.

I was explaining to the officers that my cat disliked my car because it was part of the process of going to the veterinarian. Police officers are exposed to a degree of animosity because they are the vehicles that deliver us to jails and hospitals which can be painful experiences. It is unfair but it is also a human association and reaction.

I’m always a little nervous when I do a presentation but sitting next to six pistols added to my anxiety. I was hoping someone from the audience would scream out “don’t shoot the messenger.” I shared with the room my childhood dream of being a Conservation Officer. My adolescence and young adulthood was spent working for the Ministry of Natural Resources. I volunteered most of my weekends assisting Conservation Officers with their patrols. I left the school of natural resources following my father’s death and the depression that seeped from his grave into my mind and heart.

One of the Ontario Provincial Police officers approached me following my speech and relayed that roughly the year before me he too was a student at the same school in the same Fisheries and Wildlife program with the same dream. We may have passed each other in the hallways on our identical journeys. I’m not sure which of us was more taken aback by the situation. We were nearly step by step in unison but I ended up in jails and hospitals as a prisoner and he as a police officer delivered people quite like me to the same places. We had each applied to police forces but he found a paycheck and I found pain.

I have always respected the police on some level but this evening it is something deeper. I doubt the officer with a similar journey resents me and I surely do not resent him. I am pleased that he has fulfilled his calling and I believe in some small way I am doing the same. He seemed like someone I might like to go fishing with. Possibly he would out fish me as luck seems to have paved his path more than mine but when you eat a shore lunch it matters not who caught the fish. Just enjoy the meal. Today I did just that. I am unlikely to ever forget my egg salad sandwich and carrot cake. Flavour is found in the company.

I was dressed up today as were the officers but I hope my words and story illustrated the fact that we are all flesh and bone with degree’s of dignity dancing among the molecules. Had that officer’s and my dreams and desires duplicated we would likely never have met or spoken. I don’t know what he thinks of me but if I had to endure what I have to facilitate meeting him and his colleagues I don’t have much of a problem with that. We seldom thank the police but to the Elgin Ontario Provincial Police I say just that for just this. Take care and be careful out there.

Welcome to Canada my friend and thanks for diluting these conservative creeps.

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I have been feeling a little low lately but I have received news that if nothing else has cured my cursed cold. It seems Sun News Network has gone off the air. I guess there was some truth to my mother saying “if you have nothing good to say, don’t say anything at all.” She was probably trying to get me to shut up but she might find peace knowing at least a few conservative morons can be muted.

Ezra Levant apparently “doesn’t know what he’ll do next”, like he ever did. I have some suggestions but my blogs of late have been peppered with profanity so I too shall say nothing at all. According to Ezra Levant he still has “a lot of things to say.” So does a three year old high on Kool-Aid but we don’t let them host their own news program. Ezra Levant seems to have borrowed some of the Prime Ministers skills for mathematics. Ezra Levant thinks “people had a passionate response to the Sun News Network, pro or con, that they didn’t feel for all news channels.” Only a conservative political pundit could project that 8 thousand viewers out of a potential 5.1 million is a passionate response. This goof must have had a honeymoon with every girl that rejected him in high school. With an ability to spin like that no doubt Ezra Levant will replace Stephen Harper’s chief spokesman in another 18 months. For some “reason” or lack thereof the Prime Minister goes through spokespeople like a three legged man goes through underwear. “DAMN! Laureen can you get me another one out of the drawer?”

While I am nursing on news we might want to discuss our disgusting Justice Minister Putrid Peter MacKay. His cronyism knows no bounds. In Nova Scotia it seems one can purchase the position of a judge. I’m not suggesting that Putrid Peter MacKay is being paid directly but then again I am. It seems if you practice law for ten years and make enough of a donation to the Progressive Conservative Association in Nova Scotia, which resembles a tit for Putrid Peter, you too can earn $300 000 per year. It must be like some pension plan you pay into and to me it resembles a construction contract in Quebec.

Putrid Peter will argue that no such unscrupulous appointments are taking place. Being a lawyer he will enter into evidence the best man from his wedding, the best man’s wife and Putrid Peter’s father’s campaign manager. All are now judges. I’m not sure what you call appointing your cronies but it’s a lot like institutional incest. I am officially frightened to travel to Nova Scotia now. I don’t know any MacKay’s and I’m a leftist lunatic. They will probably put me in front of a firing squad for going 80 in a 60 zone. If I’m lucky my fine will be filtered directly into Progressive Conservative coffers.

While we’re on the topic of stupid things conservatives do and say we need to turn to the “Turkey ala King” himself. Stephen Harper is a national nuisance and upon opening his mouth again he has revealed he is the nincompoop of nuance. He is force feeding the country that anyone with a tan or tint is a conspiring jihadist. He wants to be able to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and root out anyone who doesn’t agree with his cocktail of confusion. It’s not enough to intimidate and audit birdwatchers so now he wants to be able to bust down their doors. Why you ask? Because he thinks he can best display his brand by being the party best suited to defend the nation. It is nothing short of baffling brilliance and strategic stupidity to find Sir Franklin’s centuries past sunken ship in the arctic when in fact we need bullets for barbarians. If this is what the prime minister considers a war measure we are all sunk.

Who wants to go fight anywhere so when you get home he can turn his back on you anyway?

I think we have a problem with ISIS but I don’t think we solve it by becoming anti-Muslim maniacs ourselves. The courts have ruled that signing a citizenship form can be done with a veil or Niqab. I’m not sure why anyone needs to wear a veil but why can’t people eat pork? Because it is part of their belief system which is theirs to cherish and ours to respect and vise versa.

The Prime Minister opposes the court ruling and in defense claims, “This is a society that is transparent, open and where people are equal.” When I hear that man use words like open, transparent and equal I am nauseated by the hypocrisy and I see in front of me the big bad wolf wearing granny’s pajamas. Stephen Harper is about as open as a fossilized clam and as transparent as any of his redacted media releases which usually need subpoenas and official access to information requests. This man’s idea of equality is a special paint job for his airplane while children on federal reservations go without food, medicine and clean water. We didn’t make Diane Finley show her face when she sat in parliament.

I don’t care what your religion is, what you eat, what you believe, what you wear or if you take the citizen oath covered in molasses. Welcome to Canada my friend and thanks for diluting these conservative creeps.

My New Motto: “Sorry About That”

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Firstly, you should know my oven is electric, my razor is electric and I’m too environmentally friendly to drown myself in the shower. I can only tie granny knots, my gun shoots BB’s, I live on a second floor and I’m too lazy to walk to the Thames River.

I don’t think I am overly depressed but then again half of the tornado trees from Grand Bend are in my backyard and I wouldn’t call myself manic. I would say that bipolar is similar to transition eyeglasses. I remember being out on bail from jail and driving with my mother who had new sunglasses. She was quite excited by certain trees and shrubs in spring bloom and shared her excitement with me. “Whatever” I thought. After we got home she figured out her new glasses had a violet hue to them thus distorting her reality of beauty. Bi-polar is similar except it is not so easy to remove your lenses. When I am up things are overly optimistic and bright and when I am down they are overly dark and distorted.

I was frustrated by the world we live in and was fairly certain my main contribution was ending up at the Greenway Sewage Treatment Facility. I only expected a little peace but I had no intention of seeking anything eternal. I’m not sure I’m even owed it. I should have qualified some of my statements but I am in the habit of saying what is on my mind. I’m still convinced few read my blog but for those that do, thanks.

When Justin Beiber’s used shoes sell for anything and it makes the news we all need to re-evaluate. No? I’m not convinced he has journeyed anywhere much less anywhere meaningful. If anything he needs a boot up the ass. He must be a bad boy though with all those tattoos. We all know toughness is in the tint and beauty is in biceps.

A few things have culminated in my mood or as I see it outlook. I have a virus and now that the fever has broken my ears are plugged and considering my nose is plugged it seems relatively easy to breath underwater. My chest is depositing phlegm on my tongue so I don’t feel too pretty or poetic.

I had to put my cat down. Any pet owner should relate but this cat was my life preserver. When I first lived in the community he wandered the house with me and attacked my feet when I didn’t want to move them. When I didn’t care he made me care for him. When I couldn’t sleep I could hear him running up and down the stairs so I knew it was okay not to. When I was anxious he purred and I learned how to be content. When I had no one to touch or to be touched by he brushed against me. Godspeed Sam.

I took an old friend to task and possibly shouldn’t have. St. Joseph’s Health Care is was and always will be a great and gracious organization because of those who it employs. I slapped them to turn their heads towards my friends who I view as humiliated to a degree, somewhat in danger and relatively exposed and compromised. Maybe we can find a solution.

So that’s roughly where I was coming from. I have every intention of keeping my promised presentations and I have performed through worse health. I wont succumb to discouragement when I have endured so much more for so much longer.

Who Gives A Fuck?

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I have had my heart torn a few times among other things. Opening it and sharing it doesn’t seem to help. I am growing tired of being a well healed scar we parade in front of students, staff and sight seekers. I’m no more healthy than anyone else going to hell in a hand basket. I shower about every four days and brush my teeth as often.

I used to get a kick out of speaking to students but I’m not sure they listen either. If I was saying anything important I would actually have followers on my blog. No? I ended up on a stranger’s blog the other day and they had some kind of Haiku poem with hundreds of visitors, thirty likes and twice as many shares. I couldn’t pull a Haiku from my ass if I swallowed a bushel but if I knew it was that easy I could have saved a hell of a lot of paper and ink.

Wind
Rock
Tree……………..Clap, Clap, Clap, who gives a fuck?

I never set out to accomplish anything so I’m not too disappointed that I haven’t. “Oh, but Brett, just think of all the people you have touched.” Clap, Clap, Clap…who gives a fuck? My brothers and sisters are still suffering in solitary confinement. The homeless are still hovering over street grates and children go to school without a fucking meal. We let the mentally ill and addicted live in shitholes and jails. Worst of all Stephen Harper is still trying to be Prime Minister. The goose bumps I get from a standing ovation have turned to rage so it is time to leave the podium.

I know I have insulted more than a few people with my words which is presently a bright spot. I hope I made you think. Asshole 🙂

To my friends I would ask that you just leave me be. Some of you have been close and I cherish that but I don’t need it presently. My God took me to a quiet spot called solitary confinement. His companionship is easier and enough. I am often alone but I am never empty. I usually have a few conversations going on in my head and if you were hiding in my house you would wonder who I was laughing with. I have been given a cursed gift but I don’t expect you to understand its value or importance.

I don’t have any plans but I will be ignoring most of my electronics. This will make my dog happy and oblige me to make a donation to Goodwill for a book. Win, win. You can ring my doorbell but if we speak it will be through a door. Let’s just pretend it is Christmas and we are each spending private time with family.

I will be posting my book to my blog as soon as I figure out how. I already paid dearly for it so why should you. Possibly you will understand me somewhat more and maybe I will receive the apologies I am owed.

Good luck and God Bless

Love Brett

Ontario Hospitals Need to Give Their Head a Shake

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I wonder what goes through the minds of patients who are pushed off hospital property to smoke in the cold with the public driving by.

Am I to believe I am valued as a person when certain aspects of myself are banished? It is quite like making a child stand in a corner to contemplate their unacceptable behaviour. It becomes difficult to see the love and respect for patients when they are relegated to the road and rain coping as they know how and finding pleasure and escape in a cigarette. These individuals have serious and persistent mental illness and we are worried about them smoking? Privileged individuals are instituting their values on marginalized individuals. Some will never quit so I suggest we stop shaming them.

When I was a forensic patient I really didn’t want people knowing I was such. I found it humiliating having to ride in the “big white vans” because most people in St. Thomas knew where the “big white vans” were from. They were part of the community consciousness and on more than one occasion I heard the “big white vans” used as amusing putdowns.

Privacy is a premise of dignity. When I am placed beside the road like a pathetic pylon I eventually become recognizable to repetitive travelers and commuters. This scenario makes community integration difficult and it compromises patient safety. What if a prospective employer, landlord or lover recognizes me from standing beside the road five times a day? It makes what is already difficult more so. Will I find employment or a date if I am publicly exposed as belonging in a forensic hospital? Nobody deserves a scarlet letter let alone for an unhealthy habit. Are we compromising patient confidentiality by placing these individuals beside a public thoroughfare?

At the old forensic hospital a friend and I ordered a pizza on a summer’s evening. We decided to eat it at a picnic table in front of the hospital. We were well back from the highway but a car full of fools drove by yelling obscenities at us. Not all motorists are mature or well meaning. Some motorists barely know the meaning of a STOP sign but we expect they will comprehend and be sensitive to STIGMA? Forensic patients are prone to abuse and discrimination and placing them beside a road is nothing more than facilitation. Having these individuals within distance of garbage being hurled at them is dangerous and unfair. St. Thomas is fairly accepting of Southwest Centre for Forensic Mental Health Care but it only takes one.

When I become a fixture standing at the end of the lane leading to a forensic facility I become recognizable. If and when I am allowed to wander other avenues I am still recognizable. We might as well dip these smokers in orange dye to further accommodate their prospective discrimination. These individuals are already compromised and marginalized and I find it shameful that an organization with a mandate to assist them is in fact harming them.

Unfortunately, these well meaning but overbearing boardroom bureaucrats fail to fathom the positives and pleasures of smoking.

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I had a friend put a bee in my bonnet. It could be argued that it was always there but I shall defer a degree of credit to him. The issue is hospitals making smoking illegal for psychiatric patients.

My health or lack thereof is still “my” health. When we crowd individuals with serious and persistent mental illness off hospital grounds to smoke the message is, “we want to make you healthy and we refuse to enable non-healthy behaviours.” It appears to be an admirable avenue but it is still a slippery slope. If non-smoking initiatives are embraced it enables preventing patients from any behaviour including ingesting pizza and pop.

Obesity is as problematic as smoking. Will it be next or can we continue to consume chocolate? A serious and widespread side effect of some psychiatric medications is weight gain. If it is prescribed by a psychiatrist there seems to be no dilemma but if I thrive on soda pop it is unacceptable. I knew individuals who were policed for their pop consumption. The one individual I recall most was allowed to drool uncontrollably but liquid running in the other direction was monitored and measured.

If your argument is that second hand soda doesn’t affect others I would have you stand at the side of a highway or avenue and measure the cocktail of car exhaust you breathe in. When I first arrived at the forensic hospital in St. Thomas we had smoking rooms with cushioned chairs and TV’s. I quit for a period and don’t recall any smoke in the hallways. The smoke was contained in a humane way using air exchangers. The smoking rooms were closed while I was there but the asbestos and lead paint didn’t seem problematic.

Unfortunately, these well meaning but overbearing boardroom bureaucrats fail to fathom the positives and pleasures of smoking. We can all relate to the benefits of joining friends for a beer or meal and smoking is no different. Should relative health supersede happiness and free will? Even the executioner has the mercy to offer the beneficiary of bullets a cigarette as a last wish. Smoking is unhealthy and slightly disgusting but for a depressed patient it may offer four minutes of pleasure. It can be a reminder of normalcy and freedom in a situation of caregiver custody.

There are more productive pleasures but who doesn’t choke on other people’s ideas of what they should be doing with their Loonies, lungs or legs? Autonomy must be complete and absolute wherever possible and practical or else patients are essentially prisoners.

I was in Stratford Jail when the province issued a smoking ban in those institutions. I remember a notice in Admitting and Discharge:

“The jail will be smoke free as of November 22nd. We suggest you either quit smoking or stay out of jail.”

Hospitalization is not a choice or a poor decision. To deny a patient a pleasure they are likely addicted to on the street is punitive, cruel and misguided. If you choose not to smoke I admire you but don’t deny me the dignity of my own decisions. Don’t put me in the cold and rain on the side of the highway in the guise of care or because of your self-righteous beliefs and behaviours. Others are not stupid or wrong they simply have other priorities, likes and habits.

To deny an individual dependent on tobacco as a coping pleasure is nothing more than institutional primacy which places patients beneath the institution.

Her hands were huge and I often marveled at the contrast between red painted nails and a bale of hay being hurled about.

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I’m not one to gossip for I know its sting. My step-mother was a sheep rancher or shepherd depending on your latitude. She was a remarkably physically hard working woman even into senior years. She had the misfortune of hands larger than most men. She wore gloves to my father’s funeral and I found nothing but comfort and strength there.

I was doing a flooring job in a stranger’s home and two people were talking about her and finding disgust in her thick fingers. I listened to her being belittled on not much more than her hands. Those hands helped deliver lambs, those hands bottle fed orphans. Those hands nourished and comforted my father, brothers and self. Her hands were huge and I often marveled at the contrast between red painted nails and a bale of hay being hurled about. It was a childhood paradigm shift. Femininity could be included with the strengths I was then aware of.

To be thick of finger is a badge of honour in my world. I was and I know many people who toil with their hands. Many layers of my flesh are a slowly built temple to tasks I have accomplished. I used to even have calluses on my knees. Today one of the few to remain is on my finger. It sits next to my pen as I think in ink and clarify among the bits and bytes that connect and confuse.

In case you’re wondering if I stood up and defended my step-mother, I did not. I knew the individuals would know my father’s name if they knew her. I left them my business card.

Air Canada’s New Motto: “You’re Halfway Home. Sorry About That”

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We left Mexico yesterday which basically took all day. Our flight was delayed about seven times and we were moved to as many gates. The official word from Air Canada and our pilots was that the weather above Cancun was so severe that they had to circle like seagulls above a French fry factory and had to pull up from an attempted landing. The flight was diverted for refueling but it all sounds fishy to me as each and every other flight landed and took off without excuse. My theory is no one in the cockpit knew where the windshield wiper button was.

Many would be pleased to be stranded in Mexico but I would remind you that it was an airport. I had to buy a twenty-five dollar (not peso) cheeseburger and the guy who brought my bill had the gall to ask if I wanted to make a donation to his thirty-five foot walk-a-thon between the kitchen and my table. I smiled and said “no thanks; the foreplay was enough.”

We walked around the airport shops marveling mainly at prices. I could have bought sunglasses but there was bugger all to see. I bought two hundred cigarettes but there was nowhere to smoke them. I could have bought a watch to keep track of the fact that my connecting flight was airborne before I was even in Canada. I should have bought cologne or perfume for whoever ended up seated near me thinking air between their toes was more important than what I was breathing.

When I finally boarded the plane I thought it was a special aircraft that they send when customers are screwed over. The beds and blankets weren’t meant for me. I got a seat belt and a life preserver I would have to inflate with my mouth. I doubted I would have to use them with puddle phobic pilots. I was clinging to my seat most of the way home as I assumed we would be diverted to Florida when they saw snow banks in Toronto. I found myself staring at the pictures of a cigarette with a big red X through them. We all know you can’t smoke in an airplane but to put it in perspective, consider yourself very thirsty with forty or fifty pictures of bottled water with a red X through them. If anything it is a reminder of your thirst and I do believe airlines are subliminally torturing smokers.

The trip home wasn’t a total washout. I got to see part of a half dozen movies on people’s headrests so I know the end of a few. The Air Canada employees in Toronto were as friendly as fossils when they put us up in a hotel for three hours. I don’t usually complain about two double beds but in this case I’m pretty sure it was to confuse the bedbugs.

I hope I don’t sound too bitter as it was a great vacation but it ended with disillusionment stacked on disappointment. I was awake for over 30 hours and I caught the cold the guy beside me was spraying into his hand he thought was somehow hermetically sealed. It’s nothing a little chain smoking won’t fix. Air Can’tada was kind enough to buy me a Tim Horton’s coffee so I’m pretty much Canadian again and that I don’t mind.

Personal Attributes and Ignorances

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I am often confused and slightly amused when someone says “the Mexican people are so friendly” or “Newfoundlanders are funny.” To say such a thing either positive or negative about a race, country or community is asinine. Does God sit in heaven with a sifter and sprinkle “good” people on certain continents and thieves and liars on others? If Mexico has been sieved of the sorry side of human nature why do the police carry sub-machine guns? Pleasantness isn’t the domain of a people or population it is found only in individuals. If geography makes you good, better or even friendly it denies each of us grace and goodness on a personal level. On some level to speak favourably about an entire nation is the result of a preconceived notion somewhat to the contrary.

Vacationland offers a distorted view of locals. Many of these individuals are actually paid to be pleasant and further the more pleasant they are the higher the likelihood that they will receive further funds for being so. I am told most of the staff here are paid six dollars a day. A typical gratuity is one American dollar. If an individual can double their take home pay by saying “good day,” “good night,” or “God Bless” they are likely to do just that.

Growing up in jail I have a slight ability to spot a jerk from about fifteen feet. I usually let them confirm with words and deeds. Today some dink with a dollar who couldn’t possibly be from Canada pulled a bill from his shorts and tried to jump the line of thirsty vacationers. This individual seemed to think decency and decorum could be bypassed with a buck. I wasn’t in line so I let him be but it was sad to see that he stood for one of the smallest denominations a nation could print on paper.

A nation, race, community or culture is not the basis of ignorance, it is a personal defect. If you are in possession of ignorance it does not matter where you were born, the anthem you sing or where you move to. There is no such thing as “all inclusive” even at a resort.

VIP: Vain, Idiotic and Poor

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My wife and I decided to go on a day trip here at BlueBay Resort in Mexico. I’m enjoying the sun and although slightly accustomed to beer I am surprised that at an all inclusive it is possible to obtain a beer belly in about three days. My face looks like a pinyata at a divorcee dance but I’m happy. My liver hasn’t spoken to me directly so I shall continue on my path of self pollution.

In the lobby we had to wait to speak to the travel trickster and another hotel employee approached us to mention that we could get a one hundred dollar American voucher to use towards our trip if we spent and hour in an information session. I make about three Canadian dollars an hour so this was the best business opportunity I had been given in over a decade.

She started filling out a form and between her Spanish and my Chinese wife interjecting with syllables there was more ink than the Magna Carta. She wanted photo identification like people were in the habit of infiltrating their sales system. They even drove us back to our room so my wife could get hers to prove we weren’t the usual conning Canucks.

They drove us to a VIP area and I was quite amused. We were pre interviewed by a nice lady who twice asked if my credit card wasn’t a debit card. Neither are of much use as a form of money and I only use them to bruise my buttocks. She handed us off to Hernandez who was originally from Venezuela and an ambulance pilot in the military before he gained employment in Mexico bleeding tourists. His wife was a lawyer at some point but I smiled at him none the less. He refatted himself on smoked fish while I dogged his saliva that his braces either impaired or employed.

I hadn’t used my intellect since I arrived so I was pleased to listen to his numbers wrapped in tropical temptations. We could travel to 144 countries with VIP service which mainly meant we didn’t have to book our meals and we would be given the use of a 74 foot yacht. He explained that I didn’t have to pay a commission to corporations or travel agents but failed to mention that he and his Hispanic friends were bullying me for more. The information session became very aggressive and after his supervisor sat down with us we were told today was the only day to hand over eight thousand dollars. My credit card was convulsing in laughter and for a change it wasn’t at my shrinking ass. Eight thousand is more than I make in a year so I was trying to tell them I had to think about it for a minute. Another man joined the chorus of corruption and asked if this was something I could do if I used a few of my credit cards. I was forty years old when I got my first and only credit card and I feel fortunate to have one. The day I have three there will be two angry people chasing me down the street.

I told them they were all trying to sell me the same flavour of ice cream which I found distasteful. They had answers to my answers and I was becoming stressed. “I have to use the washroom, you can talk to my wife.” I removed the two beers that they thought might make me fall into this fallacy and I returned to my wife who I then stood beside.

We were not offered a ride back to our room but my wife seemed in a good mood regardless. Apparently, while I was in the washroom she tried to sell them each a fitness training package that could be used in 144 clubs in Canada. Time share that.

Mexican Marketing

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We took a trip into town yesterday. I was expecting a tourist trap but it was more like a slide soaked in salad oil with only one possible direction to be followed. I was flattered that they devoted ten blocks to siphoning my cents but I think the forty-five silver vendors could have been better managed.

About a dozen of us tourists disembarked from one van and I quickly discerned that our lack of tans were essentially targets for vendors. I was smart enough to ask the hotel concierge before we left where she would buy tequila. Everyone headed in the direction of the market of markup and we headed to Walmart. It was out of the way but if you want a feel for the culture Walmart is fairly unadulterated. We passed a few banks which each had guards with billy clubs loitering in front and I was pleased that someone’s money was safe. There was a cigar store inside Walmart so I entered and listened to the young man’s dreams of wealth and decided to not be a part of it. I could have flown to Cuba and back for less than what he imagined his torpedoes were worth. In my world money doesn’t necessarily mean moronity.

We headed back to the boulevard of bargaining to take another chance with cigars. The first establishment had three gentlemen out front hand rolling cigars. I bought the brochure and entered. I was checking out the prices and noticed a woman around the corner in the back doing exactly the same as the men in front. I was told I would receive a twenty percent savings if I bought a box which with quick calculation was twenty percent off a six hundred percent markup. “Buenos Dias” I said.

A fellow on the street was selling something similar and in a practised way pulled my wife and I to his display. He started talking in peso’s which scares me as I am unaccustomed to talking in thousands. “American dollars” I said. He started talking about one hundred dollars which was closer to my orbit. I said “no” as he rummaged through each of his different products handing me each with similar prices. “Listen, my friend, for you I can come down to seventy.” “No thanks” I said, though we were nearing reality. “Sixty” he said. “No.” “Listen, you work hard for your money” he said. I took a step back and glanced at my wife. I was afraid for this man. My wife is the breadwinner in our family and she jumped in and said “I am buying the cigars.” A little late he changed course and said to her, “you work hard for your money. I have a family, I work hard for my money, I have to travel to Cuba, I have to stand in the street.” I wanted to question him about Cuba but there was enough bullshit on the boulevard. He was now handing his boxes to my wife and I watched as she countered each of his maneuvers. I was in awe. Apparently, haggling has a history in China where she grew up.

We were slowly exiting the exchange and he asked her what her offer was. “You will be angry at my offer” she said. “No I will not be offended.” “Twenty dollars.” “Be reasonable” was his reply. “Twenty” she shot back. “The best I can do is fifty” he said. “Twenty” and she handed back the box once again. “Let me make my final offer; thirty-five.” “No, you keep your cigars and I will keep my money, that is fair.” His lip was quivering and he was the first local I noticed who was sweating. Long story short, my wife walked away with the cigars for twenty dollars. We paid him and his final plea was for a dollar for a Coke. He needed some kind of bargaining bandage as he was haemorrhaging from haggling with my wife so I bought him a Coke.

It was an education for me as I had never been part of haggling before. I found something else to admire in my wife and I should think he did as well.