I drive a taxi here in Kingston. I’ve done this job for about 9 or 10 years now and have had few problems outside of a couple of shouting matches with obnoxious or drunk customers. I’ve been short changed, had a few runners (those who get out of the car without paying before I could hit the door locks). Been handed bad or stolen credit cards, been given bogus pay checks/cheap watches and other junk as security for a small unpaid fare, been threatened for no apparent reason, and had to clean up after an over imbibing imbecile.
But this past Sunday something much more important occurred. A driver here picked up a fare near the local YMCA about 6:30 on that Sunday morning. A few blocks away the person he picked up stabbed the driver repeatedly in the chest. This cab driver died a few minutes later. There was no robbery involved.
After hearing the news of this senseless killing I initially felt little emotion. Don’t get me wrong, I did feel for this man’s mother who depended on him to help and support her. I did feel for his friends since he was known as one of those “nice guys who never did anyone wrong”. The out pouring of grief and anger from virtually all the other cab drivers I’ve spoken too dominates most conversation. But in the end, at least at first, I felt there was little personal effect. My world felt unchanged.
But as the days moved on I began to discover a new wariness. There is a palpable sense of anger and fear in my day-to-day activities at work. I size up my customers, I run scenarios in my mind of defensive actions if anything were to happen from whoever I’ve picked up. I even tossed a short changing creep out into the rain - surprising even myself at the quickness of my anger.
I guess my arrogant sophisticated near uncaring bravado was just a front. I really do feel for David Krick, his mother and his friends. I also feel for all the rest of us who are waiting for the local police to announce the murder’s arrest. That bastard is still roaming the streets somewhere looking for another victim in his twisted ugly grotesque world.
The following was taken from the Kingston Whig-Standard’s website this morning.
"Krick may be the first taxi driver murdered while on duty in Kingston, although it is not a rare occurrence across Canada.
According to Statistics Canada, 11 taxi drivers were murdered between 2001 and 2005, while 10 police officers were murdered on duty in the same period.
Krick will be buried tomorrow in a public funeral being held at the chapel at Tompkins Funeral Home on Colborne Street, beginning at 11 a.m."
What a incredible senseless loss.
Have you ever noticed that most, if not all of the people you see on this website who are, at least to you, the most attractive and desirable ones, always seem to live “waaaaaay over there“. What I mean by “waaaaaay over there”, is that they live about a million miles away...actually it’s probably more like thousands, or many hundreds of miles away, but it might as well be a million miles away.
Some of us have jobs that may pay most of our bills and even allow us some leisure time, but it probably doesn’t pay enough to include regular weekend getaways from here (Kingston) to there (California, BC, Eastern Europe, Asia etc.) to visit someone you or I met or saw online.
For instance, I just ran a fairly picky search but didn’t specify distance. And there you have it, gorgeous woman after gorgeous woman. At least gorgeous women to my eye and mind. You see, like most of you, I actually do read care about what people have to say in their profiles. Compatibility and commonalities are as important as appearance.
Anyway, getting back to the superficial - namely gorgeous women “waaaaaay over there“. The list is like this, based on my own personal, subjective criteria. I see a dazzling blonde from the UK, a stunning red head from Germany, a real beauty from California, another stunning blonde from Arizona, a total knock-out brunette from where else? BC. Then there is the “like oh my gawd” exquisite blonde from Bulgaria. Yeah, there are a few hundred more from all over the planet, but I think you get my drift.
And before anyone jumps all over me complaining that I’m just not paying enough attention to the lovely ladies from my own area let me set that record straight. We all know about “chemistry” even if some of us failed it in high school. There are biased reasons we pick the ones we pick and we have no control over that. It’s not a slight to anyone in particular, local or other wise, its just the way we’re wired.
Having said all of that, we (mostly me) have some really superficial reasons we select one human over another. One of the mixtures of selective groupings for me is - Blonde (see paragraph 4), west coast Canada (style), tall (as opposed to short), thin(ish) but not skinny, a little make-up but not too much (I like to actually see who I’m with), smart and creative without being arrogant about it, non-religious and preferably petless (yeah, I’ve made my choice - godless and dogless), and finally, and most importantly - a willingness to talk to me.
All the other stuff like personality convergences and conflicts, strengths and weaknesses, s*xual preferences and freedoms, and so on, are discovered when two people spend enough time together to learn about each other. That’s the problem with most the attractive ones being “waaaaaay over there“, we never have the time to really get to know each other.
At the time of my last migraine incidence, about a year and a half ago, I visited my doctor who had given me a prescription for a drug that is used to relieve migraine headache. It does not prevent or reduce the number of attacks, but will reduce the effects of one in progress.
I hurried to my local drug store, prescription in hand, and asked, which is my habit, how much this drug will cost. The prescription was written for twenty doses. The total cost - $338.00. Or $16.30 for each tiny little tablet.
At that time I was stumbling through, shall we say, a financially embarrassing period. Paying $338.00 for one prescription was simply not a possibility for me so I declined the migraine medication. Disappointedly, I left the drug store empty-handed and could only hope I would not have another attack before I could afford to purchase the much desired drug.
Nearly a year past by and I had not had a new migraine experience so the urgency to fill my migraine prescription slowly fell into the back of my mind. But that oversight was soon to be resurrected.
A few months ago I found myself in the same drug store filling a prescription for an unrelated condition. As I stood near the druggist’s counter waiting for my prescription to be filled and while I aimlessly thumbed through the various pamphlets there I overheard the words, “Good thing I have a drug plan or I wouldn’t even bother.”
I looked to my right to see who had spoken those words and recognized the speaker as Peter Milliken. I have the greatest respect for Mr. Milliken and his accomplishments, but then, remembering turning down a needed medication the year before, I flared with anger at the carelessness of those words.
Clearly my indignation was rooted in the fact that Mr. Milliken is a high ranking member of the ruling federal party and that my tax dollars are paying for his drug plan. A plan that is not available to me and others like me.
Of course Mr. Milliken had no knowledge of my predicament from the previous year so I bit my tongue and said nothing. The fact that I have no medical plan that covers drugs or dental procedures is not his fault. Its simply an abysmal shortcoming in universal medical coverage.
This short story is just a personal example of how a multi-tiered medical system operates, a system that has in fact existed for many years when prescribed drugs for serious conditions are considered.
The health decisions I and many others need to make on a daily basis do not exist for those who are in a position to pay for additional coverage or for those who have employers, public or private, who have arranged group coverage.
And, as we head inexorably toward an even wider ranging multi-tiered system these critical health decisions will be made more commonly by the average Canadian.
For those of us who do not have a medical plan now, and who will most certainly not be able to afford the additional “free market” medical coverage the future indeed looks bleak.
This time around, and since my financial situation has improved somewhat, I asked the pharmacist to give me, at least, the minimum quantity of the prescribed cerebral vasoconstrictor that he could. It cost me $109.89 for six pills to allay the fears I harbour about future migraine attacks and the loss I feel when suffering one of those onslaughts.
Members of parliament are covered for these sorts of events, I am not. Well, nobody ever said life was fair.
Anyone who has ever suffered from migraine episodes will be fully aware of the effects this condition has on daily life. In my case an entire migraine incident, from start to finish, takes about two days, including recovery time. Luckily I only experience migraines about once a year or so, annoyingly though, in my case, is that they usually come in clusters.
During this past week I had an all time low of two in a row, on succeeding days. This translates to four days of pain, bewilderment and anger.
During one of these events the anger I feel comes from the sense that time has been arbitrarily stolen from my life since I cannot function in any useful way. The bewilderment comes from the attack itself which robs me of clarity of thought. The anger also comes from a lack of knowledge as to why it occurred, and what triggered a particular incident of migraine.
There are many slightly differing definitions of migraine, but the most concise I’ve found is:
“Migraine is a type of recurring headache that involves blood vessels, nerves, and brain chemicals. Sensations such as visual changes, called auras, may precede a migraine. A migraine occurring with an aura is called classic and without aura is called common. Patients may experience a migraine several times a week or once every couple of years. Migraines may be so severe that they interfere with a patient's ability to work and carry on normal activities. “
In my case I have a cruel forewarning that a migraine is on the way by means of distorted vision or as mentioned in the preceding paragraph, an aura. The reason I use the words “cruel forewarning ” is because included with the highly recognizable growing symptoms that foretell an oncoming migraine is the knowledge that I will soon experience significant pain.
This is how a migraine works in my world: It begins with a slight greyish speckling in my field of vision. Normally its located slightly down and to the left but grows toward the centre and causes a nearly uncontrollable blinking response. This speckling effect gradually becomes intense enough to create a sense of double vision.
Its much harder to decide on the location of this doubled vision than the speckling effect though and seems, after a few more minutes have passed, to cover my entire range of vision. The true “aura” then starts its slow growth across my eyes.
It begins as a slight flashing of colour far down and to the left in the peripheral field of vision, which is a quite typical location for most who suffer migraines. The aura takes on the shape of a pulsating wriggling snake which flickers and sparkles with colours similar to a churning kaleidoscope.
It moves as sidewinder snake would move up and to the right, toward the centre of the field of vision. This colourful flashing snake does not so much repeat itself in simple succession, as if it had a beginning and an end. It is simply there and actively moving about.
The snake gradually grows in width and frequency after a few minutes have past until my vision is so distorted that recognizing distinct shapes becomes nearly impossible. At its worst the distortion alters my entire range of vision. My full scale of colour perception changes into colours previously and normally unseen. In some cases most common colours are replaced with lighter or darker shades of their true selves, as is the contrast between them. During severe attacks, colours seem to shift toward the negative as seen in photographic film.
This is also about the time that my mind begins an inevitable shift into an altered sense of perception. Sounds, tastes, and smells become different. Simple analysis of common events and sights become alien and harder to grasp. Some people experience speech difficulties and other unsettling physical discomforts.
Ahh, the cool sense of irresponsibility. There’s nothing better in the world than working for yourself, as long as it pays some of that actual cash now and then. Even though I do have a night job that pays a mere pittance I’m going to take the time to write some entertaining blogs once in a while.
That’s clearly a benefit for you gentle readers, but I gain something from it as well. It means, mostly, that I get to be that aforementioned irresponsible. Also, I get to sit here at my keyboard, ignoring the cable bill and the one from the hydro company too. All the while peeking out of the corner of my eye through the living room window just in case that extremely attractive grandma I’ve seen a couple of times walks by the house with her grandkids.
My cover story would be the following, if she happens by again that is. I’d run outside and begin sorting through the recycling bin or something. Then with a deft wave and a wink to one of her grandkids I’d say something like, “Hi there little fellow/girl (what ever the case may be.) That would be quickly followed by, in a fairly high and desperately cute tone, “Do you recycle stuff too?” Clearly hoping to open a conversation with the little tyke.
It really wouldn’t matter one way or the other if the cute little youngster responds or not because I have other plans afoot. At some predetermined moment I’d look up at grandma and say, “She/he looks just like one of my grandkids. Aren’t they just so darned cute. Especially when they have to go home. Ha, ha, ha”
Well okay. You see were I’m going on this so I’ll cut to the chase. Her response might be something like, “Hey good lookin’” Well maybe not that. I haven’t been good lookin’ since August of 69. But a guy can dream can’t he?
Anyway,I figure she’d either stop and talk awhile or call for the cops. Either way a conversation would be opened. One would involve a jail cell while the other would more likely involve dinner and a movie. Hey wait a minute. Jail would probably involve dinner and a movie too, but let's not go there...shudder.
Feeling generally like I can’t lose on this one I’d push the conversation forward to what I do in my life. I’d tell her that I was working on a new column (I freelance write for the local rag now and then) or a new stained glass panel today. I’d tell that my primary purpose in life is to make other people feel better about their lot in life and a lot of other junk like that.
Before she has a chance to start thinking that “here’s another one of those over-the-hill artist wannabes” I’d switch the conversation back to little Bobby or Susie (whatever the case may be.) And then just as quickly shift to her and what she does/doesn’t do.
Once we’re talking about her, and if I don’t feel the least bit drowsy by her response, then I’d add some general small talk. You know, things like. “Come around here often?” or “Is your husband still alive?” Just clearing the air and making sure the runway is clear, if you get my drift.
Trust me. It won’t take long before I’d have a phone number in hand and a...hmm, let’s see, oh yeah a spring in my step. After we wave goodbye and I watch her walk down the street for awhile I’d go back into the house.
Once back at my desk I’d grab the phone and dial the number she just gave me and hope like hell that I don’t hear somebody answer by saying, “Good afternoon. AIDS hot line.” or something to that effect. If I just hear a nice hello or get an answering machine I’d make like one of those annoying little people trying to sell a cemetery plot in some godforsaken outback, then hang up.
Just think about this. Gorgeous grandma and I might make a good couple one day. And, as I sit here day-after-day writing blog-after-blog for your enjoyment, I can keep an eye out for other stray grandmas while I completely ignore paying my bills. So, as you can see, being irresponsible can be a way of life for some of us.
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