Three Witty Women

"You're Dying for it"

2005-05-25T14:01:00.000-07:00

They all chuckled companionably, the banter continuing on for some time on another level. It was an odd situation that they wordlessly recognized together: A young woman, bright, educated, and feisty, willing to tolerate, even befriend the men who had run this park for years with a bunch of other ruffians. Alternately, here were a couple of crusty, hard-living, weathered types from the old boys network who saw someone new and fresh – someone with promise, a willingness to learn, and accept those around her no matter how different. They felt the common thread of the Island that tied them together. The thread tied them in a way that made them care not just about their work, but also about their colleagues. It was not just having something in common - being at the same workplace. It was a bond, a connection that mattered as much as family.

She looked around at the beauty of the Island. Back here in the service yard it wasn't as well taken care of; not manicured for public consumption. However, it portrayed its own characteristic beauty, enhanced by the fact that it was theirs. They sat on a picnic bench that had been pulled up near the office building. It looked south on the lagoon, and every night like clockwork, the Baltimore Oriole, a cruise ship, would pass with its crew and load of partiers. The public could not come here, and because of that, they felt a keener sense of ownership of this area. She knew her other friends on the Island felt it too. Her friend Sarah said that once you had worked here a few years, you became part of the grass, the trees, and the sunset. It was true. The feeling was curiously consuming, like a demanding lover that required your attention all the time, flaunting its charisma, mourning your departure, always calling you back. Sarah and her had walked the Island many times for the simple pleasure of communing with nature, and appreciating their surroundings.

They all gazed for a short while on the angle of the sun, the shadows it created, the ship lazily floating by with some of the revellers waving at them, their music blaring. They waved back, as they always did.

She had taken a break from the mock-debate, frustrating his desire to irritate her. She had lost track of how many beers were left in the case.

The atmosphere was starting to tone down and Bossman wanted to kick it up a notch. He let the moment pass, and then:

“Listen baby,” he put the fake swagger on. “I have to tell you, if you were my woman, you’d never have a chance to do any housework anyway – I'd keep you so busy, you wouldn’t have time to come up for air”.

“Yeah, and I guess you’d have me begging for more all the time, right?

“That’s right, see? You intuitively know how good I am. I’m very thorough in the sack you know, would you like a sample?” He licked his lips and ogled her.

This was going a bit far now, she thought. How could Frank just sit there and go along with all this, she wondered. Yes, he was Frank’s boss, so she guessed he couldn’t do much of anything. Or maybe it was the fact that these scenes were always played out like movies. No one was expected to take it seriously.

As it turned out, Frank wasn’t really sure how much she was annoyed by Bossman’s attentions. Perhaps she was enjoying this. Another married man, he thought. She wouldn’t be any better off. But maybe she was tired of Frank and would prefer to move on to a more dynamic, powerful man, even though he was older. He let his self-doubt rule his thoughts for a few moments. Yes, this man was officially his superior, but he was indeed superior to him in character also, he thought. The fact was, Frank idolized him. So he decided to remain silent and go along with the game. She was a big girl and could make her own decisions, even if it left him in the ditch. Besides, without interference, maybe she would reject Bossman's advances, and what a coup that would be for his own ego.

“Get lost, I told you to stop being such a pig” she shot back.

Bossman ignored her protests and approached as close as he dared. He leered into her eyes and growled lowly, just a few inches away from her mouth.

“You know you’re dying for it. Come and . . .”

That was about as much as she could take. It was on his approach when she raised her beer up over his head. Down it went, sloshing all along the front of his face and shirt, suds and all.

She stepped back almost horrified at what she had done. He, on the other hand, looked like he was used to it. She looked around and saw all the empties sitting on the picnic bench. She had not realized until that point that they were all half cut.

She sputtered, “I . . . uh . . .

She couldn’t imagine what his reaction would be, and for a moment, was a bit scared.

But she didn't show it. Never let them see your fear, she told herself.

They called it "Women's Lib"

2005-05-16T16:10:00.000-07:00

He loved to get her all riled up, and she usually took the bait. Tonight was no exception.

"Cooking and cleaning, eh? What are you stuck in the fifties or something?" she accused. "Women have come a long way in the last thirty years in case you hadn't noticed." She knew how to hit below the belt with the subtle reference to the fact that he was twenty-odd years older than her.

He was about to counter but Frank chimed in "oh boy, here we go again with another women's lib lecture. Hey, this time, how about you show us your bra before you burn it, huh?"

Bossman faked a drunken stagger up to within a foot of her face, "Yeah baby, take off your bra - want some help? Better yet, I'll burn it off for ya, come'ere, huh?" The men yukked it up.

She turned from Bossman without backing up, "Terrific Frank, now you're as bad as him - it's not called 'women's lib' anymore - you have to say 'feminism' now unless you want to sound dated."

Frank was getting into the game. "Ohhh, Fem-in-ism, is it? What's that? French for Bitch?" he snorted and took a deep drag on his cigarette.

"You two really are hopeless, aren't you? Tell me when you want to talk about something intelligent. I know you can be witty - I've heard you fake it a couple of times.

Bossman was in goad mode now. The wheels were turning in order to build up the annoyance factor quickly in an attempt to elicit a major reaction. However, Lasha had been here many times before. She'd also seen him work his tricks on other people with great effect. It was a game. He would find something a person cared deeply about and start playing with the topic, positing redneck quotes or any other inflammatory comment he could muster. It was as if he wrote the book on how to be socially inept. The amazing thing was that he easily made the switch into being smooth and sophisticated whenever it was necessary. He was such a good actor that sometimes she thought he actually believed in the role he was playing in some small way.

"Ok, really now," Bossman sounded more serious. "I'm a great supporter of women! They're way smarter than men. And I always helped out around the house. I did all the cooking and housework when the ankle-biters were small."

He referred to his four children who were now fully grown.

"I usually did everything since 'Bridie' was only good for one thing, and that wasn't housework."

"Bridie" as he referred to her, was Bossman's first wife, whom he had never divorced, but had left year ago for his current live-in girlfriend.

"My attitude was, if my wife is all stressed out, then I can help with women's work without my masculinity be threatened. I mean, I did all of the manly stuff around the house, of course, but I could help here with her job too."

Lasha now turned to her continuous project to educate these associates of hers in the more recent theories on the role of men and women in society. She knew they respected her opinion. And whether they agreed or not, she knew they truly saw a new window on the world through her eyes when her preachings were in full swing.

"You know, I respect what you are saying, but --"

Frank interrupted, "BUT, BUT, there's always a BUT, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is", she continued dryly. "BUT, the problem is, you are looking at the whole thing from the wrong perspective. You act like you were doing her a big favour by doing HER work for her, and that she should bow down to you in eternal gratitude."

"Yeah, that sounds good. But maybe she could kneel down in eternal gratitude, eh? Right about here?" He motioned to the level of his groin area.

"You can be such a pig, you know that?"

He laughed back at her.

"Listen, these days, it would be considered just sharing the work. You work all day away from home and she works all day in the home - remember, even when a woman does not work outside of the home, she is still working. And the work day does not end a 5 pm you know. Husbands these days recognize that and share the rest of the work at the end of the day."

Using a deep HE-man voice he role-played, "Maybe some pussy-whipped, pansy-assed wimps do, but not real men!"

She sighed and chuckled, "ok, I had hope for you there for a minute but you're regressing again." She leaned back and took a long swig of her beer, having a look around on this beautiful summer night.

Standard Issue

2005-05-10T07:33:00.000-07:00

They arrived and popped open a few cold ones. All Parkies were equipped with a bottle opener. You would have thought it was standard issue upon being hired. She imagined a labourer's first day: uniform? check! keys? check! ferry pass? check! lawnmower, weedeater, or whatever tools you needed? check! And don't forget your bottle opener! Ha! if only they supplied the booze too, she thought. Although in a lot of cases, they were well plied with the stuff, at no expense. There were so many restaurant owners trying to impress the park management, so many special events, and personal stashes hidden all over the place that it would have been a rare occasion to be dried out.

Bossman told his usual joke about his "drinking problem":

"Went to the doctor the other day. He says 'Do you drink?'. I say, 'yeah, you got something?'"

Frank joined in, "Yeah, you know when you have a drinking problem - it's when you run out. Now THAT's a problem".

They all snickered, although they'd heard it all before.

"So how's your love life, doll-face" Bossman offered as an opener to the night's proceedings.

"Great, just GREAT", she said.

"Yeah? Give me some details, are ya getting it regular-like?" he prodded.

He was always looking for some controversy. She was used to it though. People who didn't know him just thought he was crass. But she had known him long enough to recognize the role playing he engaged in for fun. He often enjoyed acting like a big, stupid oaf just to get a reaction.

"And what makes that your business?" she teased.

"All your sexual activities are going to be my business, don't'cha know?" he pressed.

"Right!" she shot back sarcastically.

"Is that all you ever think of? You think women are only on the planet for your entertainment" she accused.

"Not at all" he countered. "They're good for cleaning the house and cooking too" he grimaced.

There, the controversy button had been pushed, and he knew just how to do it.

But it soon became apparent that Bossman wanted more than just a debate this evening and Frank was not going to get in his way. Although he was certainly aware of her and Frank's liaison over the last few years. It was the type of secret non-secret that lovers in the workplace have. A lot of people knew about them and everyone talked about them, but no one said anything directly to the two cheating lovers. They just looked the other way when some park event required the presence of the cheating lovers' spouses. It was like a code of honour between co-workers: Thou shalt never tell the spouse about your colleagues' indiscretions. Everyone followed the code and she wondered why? How could she trust her friends so much that she would leave them armed with critical personal information that could destroy her home life? She didn't know why she took such chances, but she did, and so did a lot of other people on the Island. The cops were the worst, with the Parkies a close second.

There were no wives or husbands tonight though. Not Frank's, not Lasha's and certainly not Bossman's. Bossman had a yen for Lasha and he felt like making something happen tonight . . .

***************

Click on the links below for some pictures of the Toronto Islands.

Toronto Island

Toronto Islands

The Wild 80s

2005-05-05T08:52:00.000-07:00

Lasha walked on, as if in a trance, and dreamed.

*************

"2-0-8 TO 2-0-9, come in Frank?"

"2-0-9 here"

"Where's Lasha?" over

"She's with me, I'll bring her in"

"Alright, have you got the shipment?"

"Yeah, see ya in a minute"

She laughed inside - "shipment" was code language for a square of beer. They couldn't let on over the radio what they were doing. Not that park staff didn't know there was boozing going on, but there was no sense in advertising it. And they weren't worried about the cops since they were usually the first ones there looking thirsty, but Metro's finest were not on duty on the Island that night.

They clipped along quickly in Frank's pickup, the wind blowing in the window and the sun still beating down for maybe another hour. She loved this place, especially at this time of night. The sun was at an angle that made the grass look greener than ever, and the willows trailed their long sweeping arms across the shoreline of the lagoons. It was heaven on earth, a place lovingly taken care of by this gang of kooks she called her coworkers.

"Can we stop over at Building 8 for a minute?" she asked. "I left my sweater".

"Well, he'll be calling soon to see what's taking so long - do you really want the third degree? You know how he gets and he wants you there right now".

"Ok, forget it, I'll get it tomorrow".

"Use my jacket" he offered.

"Thanks" she replied, "hmmm, smells like you".

He held his fingers on his nose and said "sorry".

"Ha, ha, you are sooooo funny" she laughed.

She was silent, mulling over his words: "wants YOU there", not "wants US there". Did Frank know something she did not recognize after all these years? Suddenly she was aware that BOTH men were concerned with her whereabouts.

This was just supposed to be a friendly drinking session after work, but was this going to become a competition? It made her feel uncomfortable, like maybe she shouldn't be in the service yard with these two nutbars. The park was a big place and they could go anywhere but public visitors weren't allowed back here. So it was easier to drink undetected. Well, she thought, they were relatively harmless, but one was the boss and Bossman always got what he wanted.

*****************

Click on the links below for some pictures of the Toronto Islands.

Toronto Island

Toronto Islands

Lasha's Day - November 8, 1989

2005-05-02T08:20:00.000-07:00

What on earth had she done? And what should she do now? He wasn't anywhere within reach - not in the city, not available by phone, not even in the country for God's sake! But he would be back soon.

She walked through the pharmacy with the little button showing a menacing POSITIVE and felt her head explode into some other world. Where should she go? Who should she talk to? Who would she tell? Just drift for the time being - just walk and walk and walk, it doesn't matter where just now. Walk up Church past the BurgerMeister, float over to the Necropolis. Float, dream, wonder, and slide into the dazed feeling of a new life. She thought of how her own life had changed in the past few years.

As she walked on, she felt her mind and body, more keenly than ever before, as two completely separate entities. The body - its autonomic nervous system, and its physical ability - did its job robotically: walk, see, breath, circulate blood, metabolize . . . The mind drifted off almost detached from the body in wisps as though it would slip off its tenuous strands and fly away like a helium balloon into the sky. The breeze took her mind to her earlier days on the Island, and she welcomed the escape from her current reality . . .