At the point in my street protest when school entered summer break, “Get a Job You Looser” began to be yelled from a passing car daily.

 

This very same car had driven past, for the previous four months, with no commentary at all. It was a car that pulled in and parked in WCB staff parking every morning.

 

My prime protest spot provided an alley, directly behind my truck, which allowed for all passing traffic to have a good view of my signage. My truck would then face downward, on a steep hill, that truly acts as an aorta of traffic flow to Downtown Kamloops.

 

The intersection at the top of the hill would feed three lanes of traffic, down this One Way waterfall of chrome, about every 90 second. At very least one hundred cars would rush by, followed then by a mere trickle.

 

It was like someone flushed a toilet full of Hot Wheel cars every minute and a half. Again, I looked up toward, curb to curb, rushing One Way downhill traffic.

 

The difference between my first four months of protest and these hot summer days was that school was now out.

 

This car would now pull in the alley, just up hill of me, with a cute little Macaulay Culkin in the passenger seat. He sat politely, hands folded in lap, looking forward as if before a piano. He displayed posture befitting a Norman Rockwell print, “The Perfect Boy”.

 

After dropping off the driver, this kid would then exit the parking lot. 

 

Already his baseball cap is on backward, the driver’s seat is lowered and the sunroof is open. A huge pair of teardrop mirror sunglasses barely sit on his little ski-slope nose. An angel-hair gold chain is now pulled from his shirt, my little pony gangster style.

 

Daily, this kid would turn downhill and drive past. Over the blaring radio he would yell out, through the open sunroof, “Get a Job You Looser”.

 

I must now add the caveat; that this kid’s upcoming near death experience was a product of mere happenstance and not at all of my doing.

 

These were now forty degree mornings. Nature offered me one narrow strip of shade, cast from a local power pole. This pole sat about twenty feet from my truck which was half way to the uphill alley.

 

One particular morning, unknown to me, this kid stopped before merging out onto this One Way, downhill racetrack.

 

Just maybe I spun around at the tailgate of my truck, perfectly timed with the jerk of his stop. Just maybe at that very milli-second our eyes welded.

 

Just maybe the heat of the day and the constant pain in my life gave me a look like I was ready to kill. It happens.

 

Just maybe I ran for that stripe of power pole shade, which lay twenty feet short of the alley.

 

Just maybe this kid thought I was coming for him, as he popped the clutch and jolted uphill, just as the toilet of cars flushed.

 

I was shocked as I cooled off in my narrow strip of shade. I watched this kid face three lanes of grills streaming downhill, straight at him. 

 

To a cacophony of horns, as if in Mexico, he wedged into a parking spot at the very last second. The lead car almost removed his mom’s driver mirror as he dashed into the one spot, on the far curb.

 

He sat in that parking spot for about twenty minutes facing uphill while staring at all the other cars parked downhill. After quite some time he jerked out of that spot. He lurched the car around the corner and legally parked in front of a huge brick church. He remained there for the hour. I cannot help but recall a scene from “Home Alone” in which Kevin McCallister seeks solace within a massive church.

 

Although none of this was of my doing, somehow I did gain benefit. A different parking lot access must have been utilized for I never saw this WCB minion or her pencil-necked, geek-kid again.

 

If all of this were of my doing I would actually feel guilty. This kid only developed further to become, prime candidate for, the frustrated, stifled, bitter little coward which WCB recruit.

 

This many years later if the kid’s not a New York Cab Driver, through nepotism, he’s probably my new WCB Caseworker.