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University of Calgary PRISM: University of Calgary's Digital Repository Graduate Studies The Vault: Electronic Theses and Dissertations 2015-01-26 A Collection of Borrowed Exaggerations Neilson, Douglas Neilson, D. (2015). A Collection of Borrowed Exaggerations (Unpublished master's thesis). University of Calgary, Calgary, AB. doi:10.11575/PRISM/24662 http://hdl.handle.net/11023/2027 master thesis University of Calgary graduate students retain copyright ownership and moral rights for their thesis. You may use this material in any way that is permitted by the Copyright Act or through licensing that has been assigned to the document. For uses that are not allowable under copyright legislation or licensing, you are required to seek permission. Downloaded from PRISM: https://prism.ucalgary.ca UNIVERSITY OF CALGARY A Collection of Borrowed Exaggerations by Douglas Neilson A THESIS SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS GRADUATE PROGRAM IN ENGLISH CALGARY, ALBERTA January, 2015 © Douglas Neilson 2015 ii Abstract By following characters who navigate a city they do not entirely understand, this thesis examines the roles that space and place play in the evolution of identity. As twenty-first century picaros trying to take advantage of a place they feel takes advantage of them, my characters demonstrate the effects that space may have on how we view ourselves and those around us. My thesis draws primarily on the spatial theories of Timothy Cresswell, Edward Soja and Jean Baudrillard, and the picaresque studies of Ulrich Wicks and Marina Brownlee. As long as we continue to construct spaces designed to appeal to some users while excluding others, space will remain a major factor in identity construction. As the characters in my thesis prove, not everyone responds to the spaces around them with the best of intentions. iii Acknowledgements Thank you most of all to Prime Motivator, Aritha van Herk for her tireless dedication and encouragement given at times with a smile, other times with a subtle narrowing of the eye. Much of the content contained herein was produced shortly after one of our many discussions when your faith in my abilities was effectively transferred to me. Thank you to both the University of Calgary and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council whose generous support has allowed me to complete this work with minimal financial distraction. I would also like to give a final thank you to fellow Hotboxers Natasha Puka, Nolan Henry, and Caitlyn Spencer for always answering my concerns of literary distance with advice to either go further or go to the Grad Lounge. iv dedication Tracie xoxo heart heart heart v Table of Contents Abstract ……………………………………………………………………………………………………..………. ii Acknowledgements …………………………………………………………………………………………… iii Dedication ................................................................................................................................................... iv Table of Contents ....................................................................................................................................... v A Collection of Borrowed Exaggerations Prologue …………………………………………………………………...…………………………….. 1 Chapter 1 - The Bank Card ……………………………………………………………………….. 2 Chapter 2 - A Night of Magic at Las Gary’s Casino and Lanes …...……………….. 44 Chapter 3 – The Coquette’s Fetish ………...………………………………………………… 82 Chapter 4 – The Boot ...…………………………………………………………………………. 120 Chapter 5 – The Date …………...………………………………………………………………. 190 Chapter 6 – A. Sarcophagus …………………...……………………………………………... 229 Chapter 7 – Dirty Money ………………………………………...……………………………. 429 Afterword ……………………………………………………………………………...………………………. 461 Works Cited ………...…………………………………………………………………………………………. 481 1 Prologue Hicks, he always says that being paranoid and being right aren’t mutually exclusive. Maybe your paranoid friend who’s sold drugs, stolen drugs, stolen cars, stolen money; who once stole a dog, who’s picked pockets, shoplifted, scammed, lied, cheated and otherwise hustled his way around the city for the last decade—and that’s just the shit you are aware of—maybe he’s got a point and maybe you listen, because for all that, he’s somehow managed to carry a clean record into his mid- twenties. According to Hicks, every if is a maybe, and a lot of maybes, they become definitelys. When that guy says there might be a chance that all the money you have, somebody might have murdered for that money, you listen to that guy. You have to be careful. Careful like taking the drug chemicals out of the car you plan to launder that money in careful? Yeah, that kind of careful. 2 Chapter 1: The Bank Card 1.1 Standing at the Soup Depot counter waiting on two bowls of chili, Willey casts his exasperations onto the food court lighting. The Scotia Centre betters thought wise to install colour-changing lights above the eating area. Blue to green, green to red, red to purple, then back to blue again, but always somewhere in the key of seaweed. The server, a red-haired girl who’s only worked at Soup Depot for a week, pours coffee for another customer, a customer whose order came a full minute after Willey’s. Red, she puts a spoon in the man’s cup of soup, pops a lid on his to-go cup of coffee. All the time there’s the pot of chili right there. At the far end of the food court Willey can see Hicks by the window facing 7th Avenue. Dwayne Fucker Hicks. Fucker’s not his real middle-name, of course. It’s Asshole. Dirty-blond spiky hair, burnt-orange leather jacket. Pleasurably distressed, Hicks once said, talking about the jacket. Inverted pleat, triple-button breast pockets, oversized point collar and where the hell did Hicks ever pick up terminology for different pleats? Look at him sitting there, alone at his table, leaning his chair back on two legs, his hands clasped behind his head. Hard to miss through the algae light, acting like he owns the entire mall. And what of that jacket, Willey? Willey waiting for his chili with his standard issue grey hoodie and black jeans. Not so much jealous of Hicks’s jacket, as the proportions necessary to wear it. You scour a city to find vintage outerwear. Specialty shops and thrift stores, garage sales and swap meets. Always coming up 3 empty, then there she hangs in the dark recesses of your long-gone father’s bedroom closet, and will that jacket fit you? Hicks pretending to read the newspaper, scanning the thin crowd around him. A lion-fish alone at the end of the aquarium. That has to be some pot of chili. Able to elude a ladle for most of five minutes now. And this, the meat day of Willey’s diet. The red-haired girl takes the order of the man three customers removed from Willey’s order, and just look at this guy: a suit guy, a preener by the look of him. Carefully messed up hair. Manicured 5 o’clock shadow. Thin. A pretty man, like Hicks is pretty. A man comfortable in lighting that changes colour. A man used to receiving his order on time and all at once. A man not dieting. Willey, he’s been on his diet three weeks. Five days a week, no meat. Saturdays and Thursdays, meat, as much as he wants, but nothing processed, no beef jerky, no Pep ‘N Cheds. To date, 0 pounds lost. It’s not about weight loss, Willey’s inner Willey says. It’s about living healthy. Exercising, taking walks. Red’s talking to the thin, pretty man. Red, she smiles at the pretty man and asks him how he’s doing, says he looks good today. Gloss black dress shoes. Charcoal suit. And now Nanay, the owner of the place, now she’s talking to the man, and they’re all smiling like one big happy family, and where’s Willey’s chilli? Nanay is ma in Filipino. Pa is pa. This is a Nanay at Pa restaurant, and Red and the pretty man, they’re the son and daughter. Adopted. Willey can see mauve peeking out from the end of the man’s sleeve. He can see the thick links of a gold watch on the man’s wrist. Willey watches the man punch his BANK CARD number into the debit machine. 4 He sees the number as clear as if he were punching it in himself, and at this crucial moment in his life, finally, finally, and unfortunately, Red acknowledges his wait and says, Sir, your chili is over on the pick-up counter. Willey, he can only stare dumb at her as he silently and intently repeats, repeats and re-repeats the four digits of the man’s code. A man can only afford a person so much attention under these circumstances, as much as Willey would love to look deep into her eyes, step toward her, take her in his arms, sweep her off her feet, take her out to dinner, hide diamond rings in ice, offer foot massages, have a kid, ponder divorce, hang a jacket in the closet, leave, never return. Willey nods dumbly, turns silently and places both bowls of chili on his tray before hurrying back to Hicks. Hicks rattles his newspaper the way you might rattle your newspaper when you get interrupted. When you’re thinking business. When you don’t have time to pay any politeness to the man who’s nice enough to bring you your meal. Willey, Hicks says. He says, In the time you were away, I can’t remember if I ordered lunch or dinner. They went and hired some red-headed girl over there, Willey says. And now the system’s all messed up. He looks back over his shoulder, sees the pretty man at his table. He turns to Hicks, says, All the time it’s order your chili, wait by the register, order your chili, wait by the register. Now she went and put it up on the high counter. They hired a white girl? Can you believe it? 5 Now, why the hell would they do that? They had a perfectly functioning, well- engineered, Filipino-driven, customer-service engine over there, and now they’ve hired a white girl? Willey explains to Hicks about the chili on the high counter, and Hicks, he too has never, in his life, picked up chili from the Soup Depot high counter.

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