Issue 3: Take This Job

The broken C I Prose Poetry Photography Art Music T Y Issue 3: Take this job...

W i n t e r 2 0 0 8 ISSN 1916-3304 Cover Illustration: W i n t e r 2 0 0 8 Mouki K. Butt I s s u e 3

The Broken City, ISSN 1916-3304, is published semi- a concentration in illustration, and has already been annually out of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, appearing accepted to several colleges and universities. Born in 1988 in Calgary, Alberta, she currently resides in New sporadically in print, but always at: England with her husband Peter and their two cats. www.thebrokencitymag.com. Submission guidelines Check out her website at: www.juliekitzes.tyreus.com. can be found at that site and submissions can be sent Despite speaking and writing in his mother tongue, to: [email protected]. Questions about The Christian Martius lives far away from the country he used Broken City or its policies can be directed to Editor-in- to call home. Recently, he has started using words like “kinda” in his sentences and now calls trousers pants chief Scott Bryson at [email protected]. Rights and pants underpants. His short stories have appeared to individual works published in The Broken City remain online andEye in printWeekly in Vancouver,Discorder TorontoCapital and Mag London. He the property of the author and cannot be reproduced also writes articles for various magazines and websites, including , and . Samples without their consent. All other materials © 2008. All of his work can be found at www.christianmartius.com. rights reserved. All wrongs reserved. Kiran Mehdee is a writer, performer, animal and human Contributors rights activist, and teacher who has lived in 22 places in 11 cities in three countries. She is currently working on her memoirs and an anthology of her poetry. She can be found admiring nature and elevating her consciousness Mouki K. Butt ([email protected]) is a mixed media in Toronto, where she lives with her beloved and the cats artist who designs still imagery, motion graphics, video, who own them both. Her website is: and sound. She doesn’t like to limit her possibilities or www.kiranmehdee.com. creativity, but is suffering from a dreadful disease called procrastination. Mouki is currently living in Vancouver Katrina Taliana is an explorer of the mystical places and is looking for a full-time job in design and media. found under the covers of old tales. A graduate from http://minorepic.net/~mouki. Sheridan Technical Institute, she bends space and has scrapes from her many adventures �loating in and around Jeff Crouch Blue is anPrint internet Review artist. Google him, or Yahoo him, the universe(s). or Lycos him, or HotBot him. Or, review his fairly recent www.myspace.com/enterthediamond. listing at . Amanda Thornton girl�ixer (a.k.a.The Kristie Broken Wiwad) City recently decided that if Haruki Murakami could start writing at the age of thirty, Salvatore William is an Ottawa native who has traveled so could she. is her �irst publishing credit North America through and through, seeking outThe truth Book and for that she is grateful. Visit her online at ofand Hope inspirationThe in World the nooks Healing and Book crannies of the land. www.myspace.com/suicide_room. In 2002, he was published for the �irst time in and Fjord Three (Beyond Faces Borders Darren Bradley Jones makes poor decisions when Press, Reykjavik). He has released two mini-albums of drinking, speaks about himself in the third person when wistful songs, (2002) and (2007), and tequila inspires such arrogance, and frequently manages is currently in the planning stages of his debut album. to trick those around him into believing his intentions Recently, Sal’s music and poetry have been published are sincere and his heart is pure. He writes �iction to on the Calgary-based e-zine Splinterswerve.com,A Misspent as well exorcise his bad behavior and uses his characters to do onYouth his Ofpersonal Ramblings: website, My Adolescent salwilliam.googlepages.com. Poetry and say things that, in real life, would be detrimental to Look for the release of his �irst book of poetry, his successfully passing for a likeable human being. He , in 2009. can be harassed and ridiculed at [email protected]. Christopher Woods is the author of a prose collection, UNDER A RIVERBED SKY. His photographs can be viewed Julie Kitzes has experience illustrating children’s books, in his online gallery, MOONBIRD HILL ARTS as well as working with clients on independent projects (www.moonbirdhillarts.etsy.com), which he shares with ranging from T-shirt designs to slideshow illustrations. his wife, Linda. He lives in Houston and in Chappell Hill, She plans to earn a bachelor of �ine arts degree with Texas.

- 2 - Long Live The Ants K a trina Taliana

Far ahead of its time and stylistically in�luential in the swing of things, a deep voice echoes from the hallways of imagination. Ants. A soft brush of a brown sweater and a familiar warmth at hip level. Almost forty-two percent of luck, the rest is left up to fate, a connection unbridled by the ties of decision. Holding dreams from the con�iscating people, con�iscating the dreams from the regular people. This is not my divine. Driving away in the high grey dying cities, singing away the blue temperate mornings. A love song written across hours of countryside, and the sticky remnants of nectarine dripping down, down my thin freckled wrists. Ant. Ant. A faint breath of forest, a jolly blow of seaside, a true hopeless romantic. There are fourteen trees that line the bathroom walls, and a patch of white paint on the �loor. This is amusing, this is pointless, this is just the falling of Rome in our living room. Murder by a small child’s toy and a few freedom �ighters. Ant. A perfect erasable blue heart on the door, rice in the bowl, chopsticks. Mango �lavoured dishes from mango �lavoured countries, and his face shining up from the sidewalks. Catching myself believing in the slow ripple of change and synchronicity. These are the best lines from the poems about Pallantine. Ant. Flat rate star bought off the back of a truck close to the border. A midnight pinner, and the twinkle of colourful Christmas lights waiting for October. This is reality. This is it. Ants. B ro k e n Amanda Thornton P h o t o s : Julie Kitzes

We got thrown out of our uncle’s house at the hips.” same time, me and Lana, my twin. I �igure we both left “Who’s in Yorktown? Another cousin you can lay?” with the same three things: a high school diploma, our I kept walking. life’s savings and a suitcase. “Yorktown is where Ryan lives.” Ryan was her old The diploma was pretty much useless; we knew boyfriend, and Lana had the most irritating way of poking that to start. Our uncle had told our caseworker he could her chin out when she knew she was trying to pull a fast keep us until we had a place to go after we graduated one. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her doing it from high school. But after graduation, Lana slept with now. our uncle’s stepson, and that woman my uncle married “I’m not coming.” said it was us or her. So he gave us each an extra twenty “He already said he’d take us in.” bucks, and threw us out with the same suitcases our mom “When did he say this?” bought us when she lost custody. “He said whenever I needed a place.” I was walking as angrily as I felt and ignoring “You can whore yourself out for a place to stay,” I Lana even though I knew she was looking at me sideways said. “I won’t.” through her long hair. She started talking fast. “I’m not a whore.” “We can get a bus ticket out of here, Jackie. It’s I stopped and put down my suitcase. “No, not a only �ifty dollars to Yorktown.” whore, I guess. A whore can keep her legs together for It took me a while to get enough spit in my mouth long enough to get a price for...” and she clocked me with to speak. “You get us thrown out and you already have her �ist, right in the face. plans?” I went for her and when we stopped, my face was “Yeah.” She set down her suitcase and put her throbbing, and I had some of her hair in my hand. I spat �ists on her hips. Both of us had these wide bony hips to get the taste of blood out of my mouth and heaved my even though we were skinny everywhere else. Edith, the suitcase up and headed towards the highway out of town. woman my uncle married, called them “childbearing I had no plan and I was too pissed to think of - 3 - one when I reached the highway. So, restaurant?” his hands to himself. Granny Greer I put down my suitcase and stuck “No.” supplied him with girls mostly, out a thumb. I nearly put down my “Well.” She coughed for a some boys, and he worked us for thumb when a pink and white junker little and I wondered if she should every second he could, paid below slowed because I couldn’t tell if the be smoking that cigarette. When she minimum wage, no overtime. driver was a woman. When she rolled stopped, she said, “He could give you Probably illegal, but the restaurant down the window, I got a good look a job if you wanted to work for one.” fed us, and there were two cots in the at her and changed my mind. She was “Even if I haven’t done it back room for the staff to crash on. I ancient and fat as a house, and she before?” started out sleeping in there and later was wearing a pink shirt that said She took another drag and my savings were enough to rent with “Rosy cheeks” with the picture of a blew the smoke out in circles that some other waitresses. I got my own butt underneath. Old and bad taste in widened as they came towards me. place in a couple of months. It was a clothing was pretty comforting. The smoke didn’t smell like tobacco; little lonely, but it wasn’t so bad. “How far are you going?” I it was sweeter, more like pipe smoke. After I’d got my own place, asked. “If I bring you in, you’ll Greer started in on me to train not “Oh far, far,” she said. “It’s all get a job and training hon,” she just to wait tables, but to cook too. right hon. I can take you wherever said. “My grandson and I have an After a year of his griping, I decided I you need.” arrangement.” She said arrangement could learn to cook in the restaurant “Going to a big city?” kitchen. I didn’t even care that it paid “Hell yeah. Come on hon.” She real bad because I felt safer than I’d popped the trunk. “You can call me felt in a long time. Granny Greer. What do I call you?” I had thought of Lana a couple “Jackie.” of times since we left Uncle’s, but I “Okay Jackie, we got a long always �igured she’d be all right. I drive. Just tell me if you have to pee.” wasn’t still mad, but I was working I never was much for talking so hard that everything personal to people I didn’t know, so we sat seemed blurry. At least until Lana quiet. We’d been driving for a while showed up. before we stopped, so I could pee in like it had a couple more syllables She surprised me in the dark. the trees by the road. than it actually did. “He always needs It was three a.m. I’d had a long night When I came back, she more wait staff.” and I cursed pretty loud, thinking it was leaning on the side of her car, “Yeah.” I thought she might was the drunk from the �ifth �loor, smoking a cigarette, wearing hot be lying about the job, but after we asleep on my doormat. The landlady pink leggings and pink high-tops. drove for a couple more hours, I was nasty about noise after midnight, “I needed to stretch my legs,” she started thinking it was a good plan. so I kicked at her on purpose as I said. She sucked in and I noticed the I was sleeping by the time we stepped into my apartment and she cigarette was made with black paper. got into the city, but I woke up when looked up. “Those coolers in back of the she stopped at a big restaurant with It’s strange seeing someone car,” she tapped on the window with fancy white columns at the entrance. familiar, different from how you a long pink nail. “There’s buffalo meat Granny Greer told me to take a cooler remembered them, and Lana’s face for my grandson’s restaurant.” and my suitcase to the kitchen and was all bruised-up, black eye, bloody “Huh.” tell them I was the new waitress. nose, and my �irst thought was that I “He’s got a big restaurant in When I walked into the kitchen, had smacked her good with my foot. the city we’re headed to.” She looked they gave me a uniform and took the “Jackie, you dumbass,” she at me sharply. “You got a job?” cooler. I was in. said, and crawled into the apartment. “Me? No.” It turned out her grandson I locked the door and dropped down “You ever worked in a was a real tightwad, but he kept on the �loor beside her. - 4 - “Your nose is bleeding,” I said it was like I had muted a TV, took holding the towel up like a curtain. It and pinched it shut like we were off her pants, got into the tub, and could only cover her upper or lower kids. “I didn’t know it was you.” Then splashed water over everything, half and she had chosen the lower so she started to cry and about 20 tons including the shirt she had on. I could see that her boobs had gotten of guilt dropped down on me right Then she took off her shirt enormous. there. with that same sharp motion she had “Yeah.” I threw my biggest Now, me and Lana, we had used on her pants and dropped it shorts at her and she dropped the been close ’til we hit puberty and she in the water. I could see little round towel to put them on. Then she got interested in boys. That was when bruises up and down her arms, wrapped her arms around her belly she kind of left me behind, and maybe some on her shoulder blades. It took again, walked out into the main room I had aimed at doing the same thing me a while to �igure out they were and sat on my bed. to her. But I started thinking that I �ingerprints. She scrubbed her feet “You cook something should have at least let her know I with the t-shirt and my soap, and speci�ic?” was alive. And I sure shouldn’t have then started up her legs. I looked “French,” I said. I came over kicked anyone in the face, even if it away when she got to her knees with my biggest t-shirt. She pulled it had been the drunk from �ifth �loor because a lot of the dark marks on but it didn’t cover her lump. She who was mostly harmless. weren’t coming off with the t-shirt put her arms around it again. My apartment was a dump, so and soap. When I sat on the toilet, “Can I stay here tonight?” she there were paper towels right by us asked. “I’m just on my way through.” from where I mopped up the leak in “Why d’you keep holding the ceiling. I got one to her face, and that?” I put my hand on her tummy, tried to get her to hold it on, but Lana mostly to stop myself from getting just cried and wouldn’t hold a thing. teary. It was softer than it looked like “Lana?” I said, and she still it was going to be. “It’s not coming just cried, maybe even cried harder. out or anything, right?” “Jackie,” she said. “Jackie, “I just like to feel that he’s Jackie, you shit.” My name and insults moving,” she said. She pressed my were all that she had gotten out since hand down. “I can feel him kick and I let her in. Figures. I had bullied her I know he’s okay.” I felt a little �lutter off the ground before I noticed that I saw her underwear was a mess. I and took my hand away right quick. she was pregnant. Hugely pregnant. picked it up and threw it in the trash. It was eerie, was all. She was growing And she was wearing a t-shirt I The water in the tub was a something that moved. remembered. dirty pink when she got up, but she “Yeah, you can stay here,” I “Lana, come wash that off,” wasn’t still bleeding anywhere. She said. “I just gotta get up at eight for I said, and got her headed in the had stopped crying. I gave her my work at the restaurant.” direction of the bathroom. She was towel but it didn’t manage to wrap all “Okay.” She scooted up to the good about moving as long as I was the way around her belly. wall and sighed. Then she pushed pushing her, but when I turned on the “You’re huge,” I said. back her hair and from the side water and plugged the tub to let it �ill, Lana looked at me, stuck her she looked like how I remembered, she just stood there gasping with her chin out and said, “I’m pregnant,” just smooth and con�ident, like she was long hair stuck to the bloody mess like that explained it all. going to put on makeup to �inish she was making on her face with the “Yeah,” I said. “I saw,” and I perfection. That’s what she used to paper towel. went out into the main room to �ind say: “I need to �inish perfection, give “Lana, move and shut up,” I something for her to wear. I was still me your lip liner.” said. “You’re going to wake people up wearing my stuff from work. “You want a mirror?” I asked. and get me thrown out.” “You a cook now?” Lana was “Yes.” She shut up so suddenly standing in the bathroom doorway I got up to �ind the little - 5 - mirror I used for plucking my someone named Greer?” so she picked up people who had eyebrows and turned out the light. “Yeah, he’s the guy I work for.” been beaten up and pawned them “Hey!” she said. “How’m I “Well, this wasn’t a guy, this off on her grandson. Greer ran his supposed to see?” was an old lady with pink hair.” restaurant and trained a bunch of “I have to sleep. That “Granny Greer!” I sat up. “She kids who stuck around or left but got streetlamp shines right in here doesn’t pick up pregnant girls. She paid, and fed, and had a place to live. anyway.” It was one of the reasons I just picks up people to work at the And I started to laugh. could afford to rent the place. I gave restaurant.” “What?” Lana poked me and her the mirror and changed into “Well, that’s weird.” Lana I swatted at her hand and got her shorts and a t-shirt in the dark; I closed her eyes. “Yesterday when I stomach. didn’t know why, but I didn’t want went in for my check-up, she was “Your belly is huge,” I said, her to see my body when hers looked driving past the clinic.” She opened and started laughing again. like that. She opened the mirror her eyes to look at me. “Tesquaw, you “What’s so funny?” and touched her face gently with a know where that is?” “You know when we had �ingertip, hissing when she got to the “Yeah?” It was a good 90 that �ight after Uncle threw us bruises. miles away. out? Granny Greer picked me up “Did I do that?” I asked and “Yeah. Anyway, I only made hitchhiking out of town. She must lay down beside her. my appointment because Jimmy have thought that someone beat me “No. Jimmy did that.” and I... I made Jimmy let me because up.” I tried to see if I could I wanted to make sure that,” she “How is that funny?” remember any Jimmys. I couldn’t. paused and swallowed, “that it wasn’t “Because you beat me up.” “Who’s Jimmy?” going to make me abort or anything. “What, this is payback? You “My husband. He picked me And the doctor asked if I had a place think I did something to deserve up when I was hitchhiking out of to go and I said yes, just to get out of this?” Yorktown about a month after you there without a scene.” “Well, you were always going left.” “You didn’t know where I for the worst guys. Guys do that when “You married the guy who was.” you let them stick around for too picked you up?” “No shit. So, I’m standing long.” “Not right then, but yeah.” outside the clinic waiting for Jimmy Lana was quiet for a little. “I “Is that Jimmy’s?” I nudged and thinking about how I’m going to don’t think they always do.” her tummy with my chin. get away from him and this old lady “Yeah, well, you’re the expert.” “No.” She snapped shut the stops and gets out and tells me she “Has any one you’ve slept mirror and gave it back to me. knows someone who looks just like with hit you?” “Whose is it?” me, but not pregnant. I thought she I thought a little more about “It’s mine.” She was back to was crazy, but I didn’t have anywhere it. “No,” I said. “I’d stab them with my holding her tummy so I changed the else to go. She kept saying she used to kitchen knife.” I remembered how subject. get beaten up too and it’ll all be �ine if bad she looked in the tub. “Lana, “How did you get here?” I come with her.” why didn’t you leave? Or get a bat or She looked at me and then “Granny Greer?” something?” slid down to lay on her side. “My back “Yeah, this old lady. Anyway, She sighed and then farted hurts. Can I have another pillow?” she takes me here and tells me to go really loud. I handed her one of my little to the fourth �loor and wait. Then you I burst out laughing. “Don’t ones and she stuck it between her came home and kicked me in the face, warn me or anything, Lana. It’s just legs. but you’re letting me stay so I forgive my bed.” “How’d you know where I you.” “I’m pregnant.” She rubbed was?” I lay back on my bed. the tummy again. “The thing with She sighed. “Do you know Granny Greer used to get beat up, Jimmy, it was a bad situation, but it’s - 6 - not my fault.” “What if he hunts you down?” I ought to be mad at Granny “You let him!” “I guess that’s my problem.” ’cause she brought Lana right to my “I left, didn’t I? And he didn’t We were both quiet for a door, maybe even still mad at Lana mean to do it.” while as I thought. for getting us thrown out, but maybe “What?” I barely remembered “Not just yours,” I said �inally. things had changed. Lana was family, to keep my voice down. When she didn’t say anything, I and I could let her stay here, and “That’s what he said when he turned to face her. Her eyes were maybe be around that kid when he’s was sorry afterwards, and I thought closed and I could see her belly move born so he’ll be one up from what I could stick it out with him.” She a little as she slept. It did a little Lana and I had. I even started feeling sighed. shudder that reminded me how thin grateful I hadn’t been working so “Stick it out.” I couldn’t her skin was stretched and I got the hard for just me, which might as believe I was hearing this. shivers. Then I put my arms over my well have been for nothing. It may be “Yeah, people change, you �lat belly and started thinking some messed up, but I was pretty sure it know? You’re a chef and you didn’t more. was true. even cook when we left home. And Granny Greer must have So next morning, I left my Jimmy, I thought he would get calmer, known Lana couldn’t work like apartment key and all my cash in but he just got madder. Then he does that, but she’d still picked her up. an envelope on the nightstand with this when I’m pregnant, and I �igured And maybe Granny’d been in a bad Lana’s name and “Stay here, Buy food, out I had to leave.” situation before, but that didn’t mean Be back at midnight,” written on it. If “And you think he’s going to she had to help. Most people would she was set on leaving, she’d go. But let you do that? You, with his kid?” have steered clear, just like I had maybe she’d forgive me for leaving “He doesn’t have a choice.” when me and Lana went different her, and stay so we could strengthen Lana’s voice was fading. “I’m gone.” ways. the tie I’d been so bent on breaking.

Teenage Flashback Salvatore William like the crispy snap of a wheat cracker innocence is lost with a whisper by seventeen I could not speak the glossolalia of my mildly insane youth the faith in my own hysteria had slipped away in no time

and we can almost lose that sensation that once had been so entrenched adult fears may pay the rent yet never leave the mind clear enough to relent and glean a little from the natural �lowing inspiration of the naked �ields, the Edens and Elysiums of an end to grownup listlessness

when young energy comes alive for the �irst time it shakes and wretches, and wreaks havoc like Stymphalian birds and the tumbling down of time, the constant labours offered to that man the gray shades, the old bones I would hand it all away and burn for just a spec of timeless inspiration - 7 - Feature Section

WORK! “I was in a testy mood. I’d been inside my head all day—some days that just happens. You get lost doing just one task, and suddenly you look up and it’s dark out, but you still don’t want to leave your headspace, and then she comes up behind you with a 150 kHz marine emergency blow horn and lets off one big parp that has you shitting out your eyes, ears, and nostrils, and when you turn around, you discover that your evil co- workers were videoing the entire prank, and you get furious and you scream for everybody to fuck off and die. “Aw shucks, it was only a joke,” but the fact remains that because of that one loud parp you’ll never be able to parse C++ code again because you fried those dendrites that dictate logic patterns, and in a �lash you see yourself as a future object of pity, forced to work at a TacoTime outlet, feeding disrespectful larvae of the middle classes while taking soiled orange PVC trash bags out to the back alley, where you see a grease storage drum, and wistfully remember that earlier, more charmed portion of your life when you once knew the chemicals and procedures necessary to convert restaurant grease into clean-burning planet-friendly ethanol, and that was just one of the many feats your brain was capable of, back before the parping, back before people whispered when they saw you walking jPod their way, hoping they wouldn’t have to make small talk with you, back before they dumbed themselves down to the verbal level of Pebbles Flintstone to make you understand them.” —Douglas Coupland, Julie Kitzes

- 8 - The Wellness Room Kiran Mehdee

My aloneness was a warm blanket I could hide in, burrowing like a wild ferret. The room, called the “Wellness Room,” was the only reason I even managed to survive the job for the fourteen months I was there. Sparsely furnished with a plain table, a chair, a small trash can, and a fake plastic tree in the corner, it was an inner room surrounded by of�ices full of cubicles full of diligent wage slaves like me.

But not quite like me.

I would go to the Wellness Room at least twice a day, usually more. My job, moving around, up and down the sixteen- story building, �ixing people’s computer issues, allowed me a lot of leeway. I could disappear for a couple of hours, and everyone assumed I was with a “client,” one of the three thousand or so people who rang our department whenever the cryptic machines their careers— nay, the entire corporation—depended upon, misbehaved.

Being in a tech support job like that had its advantages.

But when I walked back into our department’s of�ice on the eighth �loor, I was reminded that for all my freedom of movement, I was still just another cubicle rat, plodding along in my designated wheel in this glass cage overlooking other glass cages, with others going through their daily rituals: coffee, e-mails, voicemails, open tickets, follow-ups, start over. Yes George, I’ll send you the status reports, the meeting minutes, the lists of enormously insigni�icant things I’ve accomplished this pay period.

That room had walls as blue as muted dreams, a blue that is so blue it has stopped even imagining a way of being anything else.

At �irst, I went there ten minutes at a time, after the communal coffee breaks that Elizabeth would invite Alex and I to, where we’d talk about George’s or Vicky’s or anyone else’s bad haircuts, bad breaths, bad spelling, bad e-mail etiquette, etc. Then I’d tell them I was going to the ladies’ room, but instead I’d sneak into my blue room of silenced screaming. I’d stop smiling that fake corporate smile—stop giving a shit about people who forgot their passwords daily. And I’d... just... sit. I’d hear phones ringing on the other side of the walls. Outside the door with the heavily frosted window panes, I’d hear colleagues crossing paths as one left the nearby bathrooms and another approached. Small talk. Small. Very, very small.

At some point, I started bringing my mp3 player along. Modern escapism device. Then I was in that room longer and longer. Just sitting, tuning out where I was, when I was, why I was there, who I was becoming.

Then I started to dance in that room. That fake plastic tree held the door so nobody could walk in on me. And I danced and I danced and I danced. Once or twice, I bumped into the blue walls, even left scratches on their sterile blandness.

And one day, I danced all the way out of that world.

- 9 - Charm Offensive Christian Martius

Jake was always over- was universal. He was a rare breed eventual fault-line, a singular clue friendly. He was the sort of person under a shirt and tie. that he belonged to the same race as that addressed you by your �irst I was employed with Jake in the rest of us—me, I, the other more name in even the most arbitrary a typical of�ice; the sort of place that regular type of guy, regular because I conversations. He made everyone exists in the collective memory of couldn’t think of anything good about feel at ease, or at least the centre of everyone that has ever worked for a myself without having to sit down his attention. Jake had no problem living. At some point in your life, you and really think about it. with physical contact—a tap on the will step into an of�ice like this. To the For a brief spell, I walked shoulder or a handshake was like a general public, it was a civil service behind him. It wasn’t following, just blink for him—and thanks to Jake, department; to us who worked there, hanging around after he left work. we could maintain incredibly tedious it was just an area where documents Short bursts of activity, and over discussions, the sort of exchanges were delivered and stored. Like most a minimal amount of distance, I’d I would go out of my way to avoid of the other departments under the chicken out when he got near public outside of the of�ice. same governmental umbrella, we transport. It was dif�icult for me to “It’s Clare without the ‘i,’” said prayed for the boredom to evaporate, keep up this pretence—acting in such the new temp. and our section had Jake. a deliberate way without revealing “Really?” said Jake. “How are you today?” he myself. On occasion, he’d notice my “It’s not that unusual.” would say, and I would rumble my presence lagging behind him and “I know. I’m just used to generic non-committal answer. As look back jovially. writing it with the ‘i.’” easy as it was to keep a smile off “Going my way tonight?” “There are thousands of my face, there was a part of me that he’d shout back without a hint of Clares in this world, Jake. Some of grinned. He was the answer to our suspicion. them don’t even have an ‘e.’” prayers. Jake knew I lived on the other “Thankfully there are only Propped up with his veneer side of town, the side that we were three of them in this of�ice,” Jake said. of optimism, had he also created both walking away from, but still his With Jake it felt good to a convincing Eden outside of this demeanour kept its permanence. have a dialogue like this; it was as of�ice? Was he elevated on a menu of I wasn’t made to be a stalker, so if a gentle breeze divided the stolid mood pills? Or was he constructed delights of camou�lage and night- of�ice air and caressed your temples. by our masters and wound up every vision goggles were suspended. This in itself was a tiny miracle. His morning like a clockwork toy to Echoing another’s footsteps made me place in our work dynamic made wheel himself between our desks? paranoid. Deviant behaviour wasn’t us sometimes forget the barrage What began as a curiosity my speciality, at least not in such an of daily resentments that surfaced stemmed by Jake’s apparent divinity outright manner, and I clearly lacked because we weren’t anywhere any of in relation to the company he kept, the expertise to be successful. So, I us wanted to be. The air conditioning soon developed into uncertainty. We gave it up. would pipe out a mundane were all infected. Each of us in our But I was still curious atmosphere regardless, and amongst own way grew a little smile inside about Jake. Given the nature of our the carpet tiles and strip lighting, we of us because of him. I began to workplace, how could he sustain his were all damaged by the petty affects question this charity of character. It level of super-human exuberance? of middle-management. But not Jake; was inconceivable that he existed in When I woke in the morning, the he would genuinely smile at least the work environment he roamed, �irst legible phrase that entered my once a minute for the whole day. It nay, even in the city. mind was, “Oh no,” particularly on was always, “No problem,” or “I’ll do I began to look for cracks a weekday, and then I would think it right away,” with him. His in�luence that would lead to �issures and the about Jake. Considering that in those - 10 - early, pre-employment morning familiarity of of�ice romance. Granted, a war. hours I’d also sometimes think about they were similar animals and they Jake sometimes offered masturbation, I attempted to ignore had a mutual interest in one another, Katherine a coffee and she was wise him. He got in the way of the way but Jake didn’t latch onto her because to refuse. He would have fetched I liked to get my heart started and he’d found a kindred spirit. In fact, her a cup of the brown liquid that that didn’t make me happy. At the he discovered the very opposite. belched out of the machine in the bedroom ceiling, I’d shout, “Why Katherine with a K had entered his corridor that has probably been there don’t you go away?” and then in territory as a rival. since 1972—the machine with faded turn glance down towards my penis, Battle commenced. We were ink symbols that were supposed to inert as if it was waiting for the right fooled because the con�lict was never represent what was inside but didn’t moment for him to leave. It never overt; it was conducted in the same even resemble the selection of muck came. polite, good-humoured manner that that fell into your cup. Katherine What is so fascinating about had af�licted them from the start, but knew what he was up to, as surely as a man that is happy? It wasn’t such there was an undercurrent of malice. if the coffee machine company had a perverse notion that an individual I noticed it �irst, of course. re-branded their product and placed could be overly cheerful. But he When Katherine said, “Hello the word ‘SHIT’ in bold letters on the carried his personality with such an darling,” the bayonets were drawn. front of it. Jake couldn’t make her impenetrable conviction that you’d When Jake said, “How are you drink shit, not with sugar, lemon or suspect it wasn’t his persona after all. Katherine?” his cannons were loaded. milk. I would have drunk his bath water to The fuses were lit with an Katherine offered to �ind out how he did it. Instead, he was “Are you coping with all that work?” photocopy �iles for Jake, but every handed to me on a plate along with And her troops moved into time she fed his sheets into the silver service and a cake trolley. position with an, “Of course.” apparatus they came back smudged Katherine, “Katherine with All questions were and wonky. “I don’t know what went a K” as she was called, was a fairly answered without a single tone of wrong there,” she’d say and he would recent addition to the workplace. defensiveness. have to accept them. “Don’t worry, She actually had the enthusiasm for “Do you want me to help you I’ll try again later,” he’d say, knowing her job that most of the interviewees with anything?” how to return the favour with the lied about. She used phrases like “No, I think I’m doing just �ine franking machine. “you guys” when referring to us here.” Everyone else in the and everyone was a “darling” on “Good, just making sure of�ice was too absorbed to notice their own. Naturally, our hero Jake you’re settling in alright.” the combat in their midst; my gravitated towards her. We could “Why thank you Jake, you’re companions were hidden away all see the simulacra of character so considerate.” behind piles of imminent tasks. unfolding as she settled in. Both Jake “No problem.” But then Jake’s campaign mounted and Katherine were animals of a rare Exchanges like this—these a surprise attack. He crossed the breed. Their kind was maybe close little stabbing motions—were boundaries that both he and the to extinction but in the zoo of our disguised with a mannered language, enemy had set with smiles and kind workplace we were lucky enough to the sort of language that existed out words. have two of them. Soon, our of�ice of the context of Katherine and Jake, I’ve never seen Jake act in a could open up into a world of �luffy as a pleasant conversation. They clumsy way, ever; his nimble �ingers pink bunnies and magical rainbows conducted themselves in pleasantries were meticulous and his limbs as they attacked the hegemony of such as these many times before were in all the correct positions. He work on two fronts. But this was clocking off, and observing the could have moonlighted as a waiter simply imagination, not reality. minutiae of these exchanges, it was at the most congested restaurant. This parallel was mistaken, based apparent to me that their words were On countless occasions, he’d carry on perceived rapport and on the nothing other than the ingredients of more coffee mugs or paper folders - 11 - than the average man in a suit and behind their faces and it twinkled jaded Katherine with a K that we all never was an item dropped. That was in their eyes. It was the singular came to know and understand. until a Friday, when the �inal battle moment of truth in all of this, Jake resumed his former took place in the few minutes before when animal reaction overtook the role. He fed off of her dwindling everyone left for the weekend. sophistication of personality. But it enthusiasm like a jovial parasite Katherine had re-arranged was a mere moment, and in another and she gave him the power he her makeup with some of the other instant, their features switched back needed for free when she couldn’t women in the of�ice. The collective to their default modes. They were avoid him. I guess his behaviour snap of the metal clasps, of handbags both too aware of the lucid. haunted Katherine with a K. Maybe it and of make-up bags, always “I really didn’t mean to.” reminded her of the person she used resounded at this time. Of course, Jake started a mock mopping to be. Jake had timed the incident perfectly. action. In silence, Katherine got up But did Jake really win? This Walking towards her with a mug from her chair and walked towards episode revealed more about him of coffee, as if passing, he lodged a the bathroom. It was over. than he would have liked—to the foot under a protruding chair leg, We stood around like freeze- workers, his employers, and even tripped and fell right down in front framed statues in the aftermath and to himself—but still, he continued of Katherine with a K just as she watched Jake dab her desk with to wear that familiar face. After the was applying her mascara. Her eyes pathetic tissues. Brains whirred like drenching, we all began to notice were locked into her little mirror, faulty alarm clocks and something it. Maybe the mask had slipped a her defences were down and she was passed between my workmates and little—enough for us to see the straps unprepared. me. To the ones without awareness, it holding it in place. But, in the realm “What the...” was simply the shock of the incident. of a hollow victory, Jake continued as Jake didn’t touch her but the To others, it was the presentation of if nothing had happened. contents of the mug did. Her blouse Jake as a normal human being—one It could have been seen as a turned into a stained and transparent who made mistakes. That in itself super�luous affair—as meaningless piece of wet fabric and her hair was shocking. In the end, to most of as the bland incidents that occurred became a bird’s nest, holding dirty the employees, it was just a clumsy in every of�ice hour. The death of raindrops. The mascara brush was accident like all the other numerous Katherine with a K was consistent far away from her eye as he fell; the calamities that peppered our with the demise of spirit we had accident could have been worse. occupation. all witnessed. An accident can To Katherine with a K, it was bad After the Friday soaking sometimes be just an accident, but in enough. She was drenched. incident, Katherine became like the watching Jake, I could no longer take “I’m so sorry,” Jake said. rest of us. Gathering the standard him at face value. I saw the mask that Then I saw it. In an instant, amount of adjectives required pleased everyone so much, that his they looked at each other with the to describe her profession, she real face was long forgotten. perfect amount of venom. Hate was metamorphosed into a bored and

- 12 - Unwanted Ads Jeff Crouch (Art) & Christopher Woods (Words)

- 13 - - 14 - - 15 - The Eighteenth Floor Kristie Wiwad

Ring!

Ri—(you never let it go more than two.)

Between the hours of 8:30 a.m. and 4:30 p.m., the better part of my day was spent silencing that interminable ring in two-and-a-half to three-minute increments.

Two-and-a-half to three minutes when they were happy. It could go on much longer when they weren’t—sometimes as much as an hour or more! Unbelievable, their sudden bravado. But the telephone made it easy.

They argued, complained, screamed, insulted. Some reasoned, some plead, some even cried—but it always ended in our favour. We had something they wanted, so they either played the game or walked away empty-handed.

During breaks, there was the stairwell. At eighteen �loors above ground level, and with three elevators in the building, there was little danger of running into pedestrians. We spent our �ifteen minutes one �light up, passing joints between us and sipping our double-doubles.

The weed was alright, but the joints were usually poorly rolled and cut with cheap tobacco. I didn’t smoke cigarettes, but the nausea and dizziness from the nicotine never lasted long. Tolerable, for free bud.

By the end of the �irst year, I had developed a new appreciation for peace and quiet and a life-long distaste for the telephone.

By the end of the second year, I couldn’t (as hard as I tried I could not!) connect the voices on the other end of the line with something human.

Three years and I’d lost any and all sympathy I had ever had for them. The whole lot could go to Hell. I’d gladly join Sin and Death to greet them there.

Then, midway through my fourth year in that place, there started a persistent ringing in my left ear, my telephone ear. Tinnitus, I was told.

Now I wear my headset on the right. History, repeated

The Broken City is currently accepting submissions for its summer 2009 edition, . We’re looking for creations dealing with or inspired by the past: stories from your personal history, anecdotes from our collective history, tales of trends or fads, and narratives steeped in nostalgia.

Have you been itching to write an essay about 15th century warfare? Are you imagining a short story about video game developers at Atari? Do you have some old photos you can scan? Was an album released in 1996 that changed your life? We want to see it all. Please send your poetry, �iction, non-�iction, comics, art, photography, music/book reviews to [email protected]. More details at: www.geocities.com/thebrokencitymag/submissions

Nothing that �its the theme? Send something anyway—there will likely be room for non-conforming work too. - 16 - My Own Worst Enemy Darren Bradley Jones

This morning, a river of spilt a dry palm across a sheet of rubber. I scoff aloud at this and coffee ran the �loor of the subway The pitchYou of have the brakes the power would to change cause receive a scowl from a fellow car. A discarded newspaper sat at its dogsyour ownto go life deaf. passenger who mistakenly perceives embankment, its edges curled and it as being at his expense. I walk dark. I watched it move from the , the voice says, speaking towards the exit, the escalators mouth of the paper cup, watched feet to me through the headphones of people are too lazy to walk on, and lift as it traveled, until its girth grew my mp3 player. I watch the faces of I make my way through the narrow too thin to continue. passengers as they clamber onto gray hallsIt isto important the blinding to looklights yourself of the Now, my stomach grumbles the car, packing us all in tighter, the streetsin the eye above. every day and tell yourself angrily and I ignore it. I refuse to �lorescent lights exposing all our that you love yourself. As a child, your acknowledge it. Nothing about the �laws: the lint on black clothes, the parents told you constantly that they churning emptiness of my gut causes hickey hidden poorly by foundation, loved you, and you believed them. It is hunger. I sip my coffee as I watch the the coffee stain on a brown skirt. equally important to tell yourself this, faces of my fellow passengers, caught AnythingI watch the in awkwardlyyour life is yours �lirtatious if you so that you’ll believe it. in their Sudoku or lusting for the eye onlysmiles believe and the that indifferent it already scowls.belongs contact of a fellow passenger, none of to you, the voice says. Never use the them speaking. Fifty people cramped word “want.” Never use the word But what if I don’t love into the same tight space and the only “tomorrow.” Instead say, “will,” and myself? What if I’m constantly letting sound I hear is the clacking of the “today.” myself down? What if I look in the train as it moves clumsily through the mirror each morning and see my tunnels, teetering like a drunk. nemesis?We See have the people man who in our stands in No one is hiring. No one is I will get a job today. livesthe way who of will my stand own success?in the way of hiring me. No one wants me. The words �low through my our success, and those people we I try to shake the thoughts on head like a lie, as though I’ve just can mistakenly view as allies. It is a daily basis, this undeniable sense told myself I can �ly, or that I have a important to know the difference, and of rejection, this ridiculing feeling million dollars in the bank. remove those who may be a harmful of self-loathing. The self-help mp3s Whatever I say to myself, it in�luence on our success, from our I listen to are only keeping me in doesn’t make it so. path. denial. In the mirror this morning, my The voice in my ears, re�lection rebelled against its recent he’s regurgitating old eastern conditioning, rebelled against being philosophies and passing them off as I’m my own worst enemy. told day after day that “I like myself” new age ideas. I ascend the escalators at and instead coldly and without Passengers �lood out the the corner of Yonge and Bloor, past hesitation, announced that it hates doors, pushing against those trying to the bustle of pedestrian traf�ic, the me. get in, acknowledging each as though languid pace of tourists and the I hate you, it said, my own they were nothing more than a stiff panicked push of professionals, my eyes staring back at me. breeze. I join them in tandem, holding own meandering somewhere in I watch the same eyes now, in the length of headphone wires to my between. The afternoon sun blinds the darkened window of the subway pretentiously worn tie and the shirt I me as I push through the glass doors car, feeling as though I’m staring fumbledThe through love others ironing, feel my for sleeves you and onto the street and I tip my down an opponent, because I am willbuttoned always at be my re�lected wrist, concealing by your love my sunglasses down over my eyes from staring down an opponent. fortattoos. yourself. their perch on my head, thankful The train rolls to a stop, for my headphones as a convenient jostling along the tracks like running excuse to ignore the homeless man- 17 on - the other side, collecting his toll for my hands deep in my pockets, a few feet from the desk and pull my granting access to the outside world. occasionally picking lint from my resume from my backpack, trading My beaten runners, barely concealed pants in a vain attempt to appear it for the mp3 player, and I push the by un-pressed pants and an oversized presentable, watching the street signs bag closer to the chairs behind me, shirt with a hand-me-down tie, must for the corner I’m supposed to turn hoping it won’t be identi�ied as mine, just scream unemployed lay-about. onto—aAll small of our side desires street are I’ve at never our hoping it would be seen as some The apologetic nod I muster for the heard�ingertips, of. if only we’re willing to other hopeless loser’s disheveled homeless man is returned in kind, as reach out and take them. backpack. Even standing there, I can though the two of us are peas from still hearCon�idence the voice ofis everything.my self-help A the same pod. gurustrong prattling presence on holds in my more ear. weight He doesn’t even bother to ask I �ind it—St. Joseph Street. I than an impressive resume. for change as I pass through. This leave the cluttered, independently recessionAs ofa child,ours hasone goneof the un-noticed �irst owned shops of Yonge Street behind wordsby few. we learn is “no,” from our and �ind myself feeling further out of “Um... hi,” I say, stepping parents, as they limit our behavior and place amidst tall green trees that cast closer to the desk. The receptionist, our actions—constantly being told of a delicate shade over recently-built this girl, her hair falls over her soft the things that we’re not supposed to town houses. At the end of the street and �lawless cheeks with perfect be doing, and never told of the things is a short of�ice tower, the address symmetry, blond highlights in her we can do. This will often result in our displayed in heavy chrome lettering brunette strands leading my eyes feeling that so much in life is out of our over red brick. I push my way down to her polite cleavage where reach, but this is untrue. Our parents through the glass doors with a sigh, each side of her buttoned jacket were under the false impression that adjusting my clothes, straightening meets to draw my gaze. At most she’s they were protecting us, but the only my tie, and wishing that I had two years younger than me, and I feel thing they were protecting us from anything other than my high-school close to her, as though she may be was success, conditioning us to the backpack slung over my shoulder, still more like me than her surroundings idea that so many of our desires are decorated with punk rock patches imply, and may have a tattered out of reach. that are sewn to its surface. backpack covered in punk rock I anticipate laughter and patches buried beneath her desk, being shownIt is important the door beforeto remember the and I catch myself wanting to ask her I wander south on Yonge thatinterview the world even will starts. always see us the how she managed to �ind a decent Street, tempted by the second hand way we see ourselves. job, even though the look on her face book stores and record shops, the states that it’s anything but decent. fell-off-the-back-of-a-truck discount People who speak in negative She presses a �inger to her earpiece, clothing stores and, of course, the tones will Shut be spokenup. to in negative looking at the computer screen and strip clubs, where I might be able to tones. speaking into her mouthpiece while rub enough coin together to have a holding a �inger aloft to let me know beer and a lap dance if I’m willing to it’s not my turn to speak yet. Her sacri�iceBut subway the one fare thing and they walk may the I ride the elevator to the heavy lips part, deep red, revealing sevenhave inadvertently subway stops taught home. us is that �loor indicated on the sheet of paper perfect rows of snow-blind teeth. success is accompanied by sacri�ice, I have folded in my pocket, noting Behind carefully applied mascara, and sacri�ice will often result in a that there is no room number. When her eyes glow like the green of a greater reward. Not eating crackers the door opens, there’s a desk that sunlit lawn. Her demeanor, however, before dinner will result in cookies curves around the girl behind it in implies only misery, contrasting her after dinner. the shape of a half moon, painted a beauty. soft purple to match the walls behind She clicks a button on her where the company name is the phone, looking up at me, her I walk south on Yonge with displayed in tall, proud letters. I stand patience as absent as her smile. “Help - 18 - you?” she asks, cocking her head sincere human interaction. than an education, when he stood aggressively to one side as though I catch myself; I feel the and met my eyes for the �irst time, this was the fourth time she’d posed warmthWe and trade con�idence energies of with her those shook my hand, and told me he’d be the question.We trade Her energies eyes widen with the those reluctantaround us. sincerity. in touch. aroundlonger I us. take We’re to answer. all part of the same I thank him for his time. His universe—all the same molecules hair reminds me of the clip-on hair bouncing around—and we’re directly Yeah. You said that already. worn by Lego men. affected by the energies of others. It is I take a step back towards her Jackass. hard to stay positive in the company of desk. “If you’re going to smile, don’t I close the door to his of�ice, negative people. Surrounding yourself do it half assed,” I say, feeling my shaking my head, and consider all with positive attitudes will, in turn, shoulders rise with more con�idence of the time I wasted coming down make you a more positive person. than I have any rights to. “Smile like here—the hour on the subway. you mean it. Give me a thumbs up, I spent more time pressing my even.” shirt thenThomas I did in Edison Dave wasPeterson’s considered “Uh... yeah... I have an She laughs gently and her toaudience. be a failure for years, but upon the interview? With David Peterson at...?” chin drops to her chest. When she invention of the light bulb said that “Resume,” she says, holding lifts her head back up, her thumb is he had not failed a thousand times out her hand, retrieving it like a raised. Her smile displays her entire in its creation, but had succeeded in late–paid debt. She scans it quickly, mouth satirically, but it still feels discovering one-thousand ways NOT to clicking her tongue. I can almost feel sincere; the manner in which she make a light bulb. He considered none the �loor trembling beneath her leg humours me is meant to amuse, not of his �irst thousand attempts to be a that bounces on the ball of its foot. condescend. waste of time. “Down the hall on the left,” she says, I take comfort in this, and try not meeting my eyes. “You’ll see his to keep my smile from conveying the name on the door. I’ll let him know goo�iness I’m feeling. I wave politely And I’m on my way to you’re coming.” She hands me back and start my walk down the hall successfully discovering one my resume and I search for eye towards the of�ice of my would-be thousand ways NOT to gain contact. Still, she doesn’t smile, and I future employer. employment. realize IIf want you smilenothing at amore beautiful than girl,to The interview was short I walk the hallway feeling shesee willit. smile back. enough that the gum I chewed still defeated, but maybe this doesn’t had its �lavour when I left his of�ice. have to be a waste of time. Maybe It took less time than that for Mr. everything does happen for a reason. I call bullshit. No one’s David Peterson to con�irm that not This isn’t going to weigh me down. smiling at me. only did I have no experience, but I There are bills to be paid, food to “Thanks,” I say. “Wish me wasn’t interested in getting any, and be eaten, and beers to be drank on luck.” And she says nothing. had little desire to learn. I couldn’t payday with friends. I sigh and shake my head, keep my mouth shut while I chewed I will �ind work, just not here. feeling bitter and alone. my gum, sacri�icing grace for fresh I let out a heavy breath, “Good luck,” she says, and breath, and no matter what I tried, I louder than it should be in the the words come to her lips with an couldn’t manage to keep my hands obscene quiet of the reception area, in�lection more suited to a question off of my tie. Every question asked, some guy on his cell-phone wearing than a blessing. Her shoulders rise I answered in a cliché that he saw a suit, most likely more expensive to a shrug and her lips curl into an through. My biggest weakness is that than my rent, rising for his turn to almost reluctant smile. I’m a perfectionist, as is my greatest headline after my opening slot. Beneath the layers of make- strength, and so on. I was mid “How’d it go?” she asks, up I have my suspicions she may sentence, explaining how I feel that presenting herself now less like a even be blushing a little, thankful for on the job training is more essential reception-bot and more like a human, - 19 - way we see ourselves.

raising her brow, her interest sincere. offers herAll hand of our with desires the areintroduction at our “Great!” I say, triumphant “You think you’re taking and�ingertips, exchange if only of names.we’re willing to pride punctuatingOur lives are each dictated syllable. by our “I’m me out for drinks?” she says, her reach out and take them. attitudesstill unemployed!” towards them. There is pretentiousCon�idence reluctance is everything. betrayed Aby success in every failure if you’re willing strongher smile. presence holds more weight to see it. than an impressive resume. I stroll out the door of the building, feeling good as the heat of the afternoon sun climbs out One brow raises again, her “No. I don’t think. I know that slowly from behind the cloud cover, cold demeanor threatened by a smile. I’m taking you out for drinks.” and I draw a deep breath as I pull “And this is a good thing?” Her momentary my sunglasses down over my eyes, I lean hard and deep over her consideration ends with a shrug of replacing my ear-buds to hear the desk, lockingNever mysay eyes “want,” to hers. instead “Well, say, indifference and curiousity. obnoxious voice of my self-help guru “will.”the day’s not a total loss.” She nods. “Okay. I’m done at spinning in my ears, knowing that I six. But if I see a thumbs up or you don’t really have the money to take a try to high �ive me I’m going to punch girl for drinks,Not eating but crackerstrying really before hard “I didn’t get the job I didn’t you in the wiener on principle alone.” notdinner to care. will result in cookies after want in the �irst place and I get to I laugh as I walk over to pick dinner. take a beautifulIt is important girl out to for remember drinks up my bag, no longer worried about thatafter the she’s world done will work.” always see us the the stigma it may attach to me. I nod and agree to her terms, trying not to Oh shut up. convey too much excitement as she I will �ind a job tomorrow. This issue, The Broken City asked contributors to discuss their worst or best jo b

Mouki K. Butt: So far, the worst job that I’ve had involved working for a large coffee chain. Being a part-time coffee slinger was generally a good experience: my co-workers were fun people, days went by quickly, we were given the opportunity to make interesting concoctions, and we were allowed to take leftover confections home. However, problems began as I slept each night, resting for the day ahead. My slumber time was full of nightmares of work, which included never-ending lineups of angry customers, piles of drink orders with speci�ic instructions like “half syrup,” “extra hot” or “lactose free... with whipped cream,” the constant crash of ice being scooped into blenders, clouds of chocolate powder in the air, and the continuous ding of the cash register. I woke up each day and went to work exhausted and hating my job.

Jeff Crouch: Best job: Working a concession stand at the Cotton Bowl in the late 1970s and early 1980s. The work was volunteer, but the bene�it was music (those Texxas Jams) and the crazy that goes with it.

girl�ixer: If you can walk down the aisles of a small town department store and not want to hang yourself with a piece of polypropylene rope from the hardware section, you’re a better person than me. Shelf after shelf, rack after rack �illed with everything you need, but nothing you want. A place where the household cleaners are kept behind the counter, dispensed only to those who won’t drink them. A place where you can cash your welfare cheque on a Friday night, when the banks are closed but the bars are open. A place where the incessant hum of �lorescent lighting is punctuated only by the sizzle of musty water dripping down onto the bare glass tubes... God help me, I lasted six months in such a place.

Darren Bradley Jones: The best and worst job I ever had was spending a day in the pouring rain with others outside the ROM, with power tools and the threats of electrocution and falling into traf�ic from the slippery stances of our ladders, while assembling Santa’s- 20 -castle and other set-design pieces for the Santa Claus Parade. I found a certain amount of masochistic joy in this: humour in the irony of the pouring rain; the sailor-mouths of my co-workers; and the distinct lack of Christmas magic in the air, while pounding together cheap set pieces that would only look magical to small children from a distance. Following the day’s work and too many beers in a local bar, we were confronted by a group of men that felt we were being loud and obnoxious. Or crew leader stood at our defense with an aggressively pointed �inger, declaring that it was in their best interests not to “fuck with Santa’s helpers.” That made the whole day worthwhile and still makes me smile at the camaraderie of manual labour, when brothers are born of strangers after a dangerous and trying day’s work.

Julie Kitzes: The worst job I’ve ever had was being a cashier at a major Canadian department store during Christmas. I started in November, so I didn’t have a lot of time to �igure everything out before the rush started. The week before Christmas, the store was in complete chaos. I recall a woman had purchased over 100 items, and as it was being charged to her credit card, my register crashed and had to be restarted. I had about 30 people in my line, and there were only three other cashiers, each with about the same amount of customers. Everyone was so upset with me, as if it were my fault, that I had walk-outs, as well as several people that actually called me vulgar names. The worst part, was that because the company wanted their business so badly, my supervisor made me take all of the insults being hurled at me with a smile and a “Happy holidays.”

Christian Martius: For my �irst job, I had to stick my teenage hands inside the dead belly of a �ish and pull its guts out, every single day. It’s the only job I ever really took home with me (in the literal sense) because I regularly stank of cold-blooded aquatic vertebrates. Lemon juice was supposed to help me smell like a regular human being and not some aquamarine biped but hey, I was 16, and all my contemporaries reeked of something or other in not so mysterious ways. I also had the indignity of having to wear an ugly hairnet, which was utterly mortifying for someone who believed (at the time) that his haircut was more important than what came out of his mouth. Not a bad introduction to the world of employment, and a subsequent jaundiced view of the job market. Who invented jobs in the �irst place and how the hell did they catch on?

Kiran Mehdee: When I was 21, and a cash-strapped student, I worked as a telemarketer for a few weeks, and before long, I realized I hated that job. I was selling lonely old ladies cookbooks they’d never cook from. I was selling fresh, no-credit 18-year-olds credit card plans that would entrap them in debt they’d come to regret. I was selling garbage to the gullible people, and I was competing with a roomful of pimply teenagers and bright-eyed new immigrants for this honor. Ten years later, I look back and still feel a little dirty for ever having held a job like that. Now, when I get a call from telemarketers, I try to give them something to think about. I tell them something I would have liked to hear back then, instead of rude remarks and the abhorred *click* of hang-ups. I tell them I used to do what they’re doing and that there are better ways to make the shitty wages they’re making. I ask them if this is really what they wanted to do when they were younger. I like to think that most of them listen. After all, listening skills are very important for telemarketers.

Katrina Taliana: The best job I ever had was manifesting reality. It satis�ied every tooth, sweet and sour.

Salvatore William: The best job I ever had was the time I was paid to play hockey as a teenager. I know what you’re thinking, and no, it wasn’t because I was any good at that game. I wasn’t being scouted for the Montreal Canadiens. It was just your run of the mill, $8.00 an hour neighbourhood job, making sure no one abused the facilities at the outdoor rink. I had to keep a lid on things in the little heated shack, keep the ice clean (sometimes by simply handing the city’s shovel over to a kid) and make sure the kids didn’t get into any skirmishes. As long as there was nothing out of the ordinary, I was free to either play pickup hockey or read a book in the little shack. And that’s what I did, all winter long.

Christopher Woods: I was twenty-one and employed at the State Hospital in Austin; there were few jobs to be had with a major university nearby. I was a psychiatric attendant, working for peanuts. Part of my job consisted of doling out medications. To make sure patients actually took their pills, I had to open their mouths, sometimes sticking my �ingers under their tongues, down their throats, and so on. As it happened, an aunt of mine was a patient there. One day, I saw her near the hospital canteen and called out to her. It had been a good ten years since she had seen me. When she �inally realized who I was, she asked, “Are you here now too?” - 21 - The Broken City - Issue 3 www.thebrokencitymag.com [email protected]

- 22 -