No More Mister Nice Guy

On the first day of January, twenty-twenty-four, I made a New Year's Resolution, much like most people pledge for the start of a new year and much like those people, that personal change has fallen by the wayside and is no more than a fleeting goal that just seemed too insurmountable to maintain.  My resolution seemed to be simple.  It was all internal and never depended on anyone's input.  Or so I thought.  On January 1st, of this year, I promised myself to be more positive.  To have a better attitude.  To not stress over the small shit.  I stated that I would be nicer to people and to be much kinder to myself, meaning I would end the self-deprecation that I often find myself doing.  It's a defense mechanism used by bullied kids for, what I would assume, ions.  The strategy of making fun of myself before the bullies had anything to say.  On the surface, one would believe that by stating (obviously false) shortcomings about oneself, that the bullies would be discouraged from making fun of you themselves and that it would hurt less.  I can say from experience, that this works for the moment, but over time it becomes a terrible habit and I wouldn't recommend it.

After much deliberation over my current state of affairs and I've come to realize that, while I have, for the most part, ceased to make self-deprecating comments about myself, that on the whole, I am not a nice guy.  In stating this observation, I can hear in my head the voices of a handful of friends and colleagues who may disagree and input their belief, "Nah.  Don't be so hard on yourself.  You're a good guy."  I get it.  I'm not claiming to be an asshole 24/7, but I'm not the nicest fella to a lot of people, which stems, in my opinion from a personality trait that I've been meaning to write a blog about, but haven't up to this point.  Who knows?  Maybe this tirade will inspire me to write that literary piece next.

I am fairly certain that I did manage to maintain a level of positivity for more than a month and I never really felt anything negative until late February, probably following the head-on collision, when I began to falter and meander off the track of having a good attitude and I believe it was work that forced me to spiral into the abyss of negativity and anger.

As a transit operator, we get to re-sign different routes to work over a two or three month stint.  It's nice, because you're not necessarily forced to repeat the same mundane work year-in and year-out, like so many jobs I've endured in the past.  A new driver will have less desirable choices over the more established and seasoned drivers with years of seniority, but I've moved up the ranks over the last couple years and while I don't always get the golden routes, I do okay.  This last sign-up, I chose what I thought was the lesser of all evils when I signed it, but I've quickly learned that I was incorrect in that assessment and come next sign-up, I will not be taking this route again.

On paper, Route 60 is easy, but in reality, it is SO stressful.  Not the scheduling, but the riders.  I don't want to be flagged for insensitivity, but if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck...you know.  Duck!  Many of these folks are of a questionable ethic.  Most are super-poor and super-duper-angry and will not hesitate to take their frustrations out on a driver.  It's very difficult to maintain a good attitude when constantly being bombarded by criticism.  It's like when I was a kid, being cornered in the kitchen and yelled at by my alcoholic father who would use every putdown he could concoct to fire at me and, at the time, I knew these accusations to be false, after constant hate-bombs being dropped on my head, false or not, a weakened mind will succumb to those accusations.  So in this instance, while constantly being called a racist, I know this to be untrue, yet it does wear a person down over time and sadly, this chipped away my defenses quick.

I am not a nice guy, over all, and yes, I hear those opposing voices in my head, but I'm a better actor.  I can successfully mask malcontent so those around me are blinded by what's really going on.  Hell.  I've been wearing a mask for decades.  Not a single person I know would confirm that I am depressed almost all of the time.  Saddened by my lot in life.  Bothered that I haven't achieved this or that.  I sometimes feel I don't contribute enough.  I am weakened by the idea that I am unable to take care of my mother in her golden years.  I hear her voicing her concerns about her life and burdens and I feel helpless, further spiraling my psyche.  I hide my shit really well.

I've found videos on YouTube that claim to fix this or enhance that quality about yourself.  They advise that the viewer simply get settled, relax in a comfortable position and play the video, whose sound and music is infused with subliminal messages of affirmation and goodness.  I'm guilty of trying several of these videos in a desperate attempt to cleanse myself of the hate and sadness that I feel pumping through my veins, replacing my shitty attitude with warmth and empathy.  I want to be nice, it's just so hard to do when I'm surrounded by idiocy.  It wears me down, dude!  The videos and subliminal messages are of some concern, however.  How do I know that the affirmations are factual and they're not actually convincing the thousands of desperate souls who have viewed the videos to give up their life savings and shit.  Or perhaps, because I'm entering the experience with a piss-poor attitude already and that attribute combined with the messaging all get twisted in a spaghetti ball of confusion.

I know not what the answer to this dilemma is.  The best I can do is identify when I'm having a dark moment, acknowledge it, find a splinter of positivity and hope it's enough to bring me into the light once again.  There is power in positivity.  I have felt it.  I have had periods where I was happy and joyful and the world was my oyster.  Waves of good fortune would come my way, leaving onlookers in the wake of disbelief.  It's just the question of HOW to maintain that attitude.  I don't know what that method is, yet, but when I do, I will share.  As for now, I only have another six weeks of driving that shitty route, then I will bale on it like rats off a sinking ship.  Sounds selfish, but it'll be someone else's problem and I hope they're able to deal with the negativity on that line better than I can.

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Break A Leg

As a child, my dream was to grow up to be an actor.  Not a movie star, but a working actor.  As a troubled youth, I'd find solace in watching movies and TV.  It was my escape from the horrors I'd face at home and as a result, I hoped to, one day, be allowed to permanently escape into the world of pretend by becoming interesting characters.

Alas, as I revealed my hopes and dreams to those around me, it was told unto me, that I'd never be able to do that, as I lacked the skill or the talent to do so.  Resist those words of negativity all I wanted, eventually the negativity will break down those barriers of resistance and belief sets in.  Look at me now.  Today, I still have my face pressed up to the proverbial glass window, peering in at what might have been, rather than what is.

"Break A Leg" is an idiom used by amateur and professional theater folk. It's a term affectionately used to wish someone luck.  Wishing someone ill will, tricks the trickster gods into granting the opposite and as a result, good things will happen.  Superstitious?  Perhaps, but given what's happened throughout my life, I can't deny the logic.

This past winter, I was unemployed.  Like previous winters, ever since I slipped on that patch of ice, that fateful evening in March of 2018.  So for the past few years, I've been employed at a job that was seasonal, so I'd be laid off in the winter.  Perfect for a guy who has some form of PTSD, when it comes to icy surfaces.  That company I worked for, went bankrupt, last year and I had to scramble to find another job.  As luck would have it, the job I had, sucked and they let me go after about a month and a half and I'd, by then, accrued enough hours to go on E.I. for the winter.  Come spring, though, I had some trouble finding work.

Every interview I'd set up, I'd get excited and post to Facebook that I was about to embark on this interview and there'd be a slough of friends and well-wishers sending love and 'good luck'.  Then as well as I'd do in those interviews, I wouldn't get the job.  This happened a lot.  A LOT!!  I have one friend, bless her, who would always send a loving message of "Good luck!  I believe in you."  As grateful as I am to have a friend who cares that much for my well-being, I feel that sentiment was the biggest curse of them all.  Whatever Gods overheard those thoughts of positivity, sought to quickly shit on my parade and prevent me from any sort of success.

Tuesday, I officially become a professional driver.  A bus operator for the City of Saskatoon.  It's a job that I've wanted for many many years.  So much that I almost faced charges of Grand Theft in my pursuit.  At the time, they gave me a choice, resign from my job or face prison.  The choice was a simple one. 😂

I'd had job interviews in the past for civic transit, but failed to get the position.  I can't recall if anyone wished me good luck on that interview, but suffice it to say, probably.  So this time around, when I got the call, I never spoke a word.  Nothing, not to anyone.  Not even my mom.  I wanted this shit more than anything and by keeping my mouth shut and not receiving all the words of positivity and luck, I managed to lock down the position.  Next came five weeks of classroom lessons and practical driving and now, come Monday morning, I'm about to be unleashed on the world.  I hope that I don't jinx myself by releasing this blog a day early and have some kind-hearted soul, inadvertently f*cking me over and having me crash into a pole or a f*cking school.

I had a dream last night or maybe it was early this morning.  Doesn't matter.  In the dream, I set out on my first day of driving alone.  I was given the articulating bus, like the photo seen here.  In training I drove it and loved it.  In the dream, my affection was short lived.  For some reason, while stopped at a traffic light, the bus malfunctioned and the bus began pulling back in reverse.  The transmission was in drive, but the mechanisms had failed and the bus was now pulling in the opposite direction.  I quickly put the emergency brakes on, but to no avail.  The pulling power was stronger than the brakes and screeching tires were being dragged backward, up the street, against oncoming traffic.  All I could do was to attempt to steer the bus and avoid catastrophic collisions with one hand and scream into the phone calling for supervisors to help me out of this jam.  Oddly, the supervisors weren't the competent folks I've been interacting with for the past few weeks, but Kev Dogg (Kevin Schiele from TVs "Bitchin' Rides")

I can't remember what happened next, but suffice it to say that the articulating bus came to rest on a patch of grass, off the road and professionals were on their way to investigate and tow the vehicle back to the garage for further investigation and repair.

In the dream, I was shitting bricks, fearing I'd lose my job after one single day, but Kevin, Kev Dogg, assured me that my job was safe and that I'd reacted properly and in a safe manner.  I hope this dream was one of luck.

When I was a kid, growing up on a farm just west of the city, we had horseshoes hanging over the doorways into the barn.  You always hang a horseshoe with the tangs facing up.  This is to contain the luck, rather than allowing the luck to spill out, if hung upside down.  If I ever move back to an acreage or am in a position to hang another horseshoe, I'd like to recreate this practice.  

I don't necessarily believe in luck.  I've been lucky in life, not in love, but in life in general.  As bad as shit gets, I've always known I'd bounce back.  I don't know if you'd call it lucky or just fate.  I know that when I won that $1000 on that scratch ticket, a couple years ago, the vendor who sold me the ticket, was rude and never uttered anything to me.  I know that when I buy tickets and I'm greeted with a smile and a wish of good luck, I never win.  All circumstantial and coincidental, but I don't believe in coincidence, either.  Only cause and effect.

So when you see me out and about, don't wish me "good luck", because chances are, you're pushing me one step closer to the grave.  Instead, tell me to "break a leg".  I'll know what you mean and that maybe, you actually read my blog.  For which I thank you. 🙂