Fuck it, it’S PoCo 5 in sin.

The “CrackAllister” apartments

he day I realized I live in a fucked up town was the day
a midget and a pregnant lady carrying a 24-case attacked me
at a bus stop.

It was a warm summer night, and I was sitting at the
bench just waiting for the bus, chatting up this girl I had
met. I was just minding my own business, when a man no
taller than 5’2, but built like Gimli, the Dwarf from Lord of
the Rings, pulled me off the bench and threw me on to the
sidewalk without saying a word. Being the skinny guy I am,
I went down without much of a fight.

“What in the fuck are you looking at?” he said once I
was on the ground. He had one of his hands on the collar of
my shirt, the other cocked back, ready to deprive me of a
few of my teeth. His woman, about 10 feet behind him, had
placed the 24-case of Molson Canadian on the pavement,

and was cracking her knuckles. She was getting ready
for a scrap fo’ sho.

“T said, what the fuck’re you
looking at?!” he said again,
: this time yelling. I had
no answer for the
» enraged little
X person.

“Uhhh... ubbh..,” [ stammered.

“Uhhh? UHHH?!” he yelled back at me, throwing my
stupid answer back in my face. I had nothing else to say.

I could do nothing but look at that cocked fist, which was
now the Sword of Damocles, waiting to fall on me and make
short work of my face.

A brief pause. And then the midget let go of my collar,
letting the back of my head drop to the pavement. He got up
and turned to his woman.

“Let’s go, babe,” he said. The pregnant lady, ready
to jump in and help her man beat the shit out of me, just
grabbed the 24-case, and strode past me without even
looking down at my body sprawled on the pavement. I
looked up towards the chick I was talking to, who was still
seated at the bench.

“Don’t worry; if they tried anything, I would’ ve fucked
“em up,” she said.

Odds are, if you live in Port Coquitlam (a.k.a. Pot
Coquitlam, PoCo, The P.O.C., or PoCompton), something
like that has happened to you too. It’s just one of those
things you sort of become accustomed to. Being mugged,
seeing wild packs of stray dogs, being propositioned by
crackwhores—for PoCo residents, it ain’t no thang. When
some bizarre shit goes down, or things really don’t go your
way, there’s a wise old proverb in my town: “Fuck it, it’s
PoCo.”

Ever since I was attacked by the gruesome twosome at
that bus stop, I notice I’ve been using that proverb a lot.

When J tell the midget story to someone who doesn’t
live in PoCo, they either don’t believe me (it’s true, I swear!)
or they tell me, “You know, PoCo’s not so bad.”

Really?
Sure, I guess it could be worse, but then again, so
could crucifixion (hey, at least it’s not upside-down
crucifixion). But really, PoCo’s a hole. If you live there,
your greatest dream is to leave, and if you don’t live
there, your greatest dream is to keep on not living
there. Really, why would you want to live in PoCo?
The nightlife is limited to the Cat and Fiddle, a pub
known as B.C.’s premiere spot for overpriced drinks and

 

undercooked food. The crime problem is getting atrocious;
just last week my girlfriend got her turn signals stolen
right off the front of her car (I know, what kind of bizarre
crackheads do that?).

I guess shitty pubs and petty crime doesn’t make PoCo
really that much different from any other suburb in Metro
Vancouver, but it comes back to that attitude, that attitude
that says, “Fuck it, it’s PoCo.” That’s the attitude we have
that stops anything from improving in this town. It’s an
attitude that says we don’t care, and that frankly, this place
doesn’t matter to us, because our only real connection to it
is cheap real estate. Dilapidated schools? Fuck it, it’s PoCo.
Parks filled with teenage gangs and seedy characters? Fuck
it, it’s PoCo. Unchecked development destroying any green
space we have left? Fuck it, it’s PoCo. That’s the attitude
that’s brought all these problems upon us, and it’s precisely
the attitude that makes PoCo so disposable.

I guess since I’ve said so many horrible things about
this place, it’s only fair that you get an idea of what PoCo’s
really like. For most people, PoCo’s just a place you have to
drive through if you’re going to Maple Ridge. Most people
go no deeper than whatever’s alongside the Lougheed
Highway (lucky bastards).

The main road off the Lougheed is Shaugnessy
Street, the Champs-Elysees, if you will, of Port Coquitlam.
Shaugnessy boasts such quaint boutiques as Safeway,
Canadian Tire, a few dollar stores and about a half-dozen
second hand places—trés magnifique, non?

Going south down Shaugnessy, you’ ll find McAllister
Avenue, home to the “CrackAllister Building,” PoCo’s
sketchiest apartment block. A friend of mine used to live
there, until there was a double-stabbing in the unit to his left,
and a meth lab raid in the unit to his right both in the same
week.

Also on MacAllister is our fine city hall, workplace of
Scott Young, the alcoholic mayor of our bucolic burg who’s
frequently in trouble for (allegedly) beating his wife. Mayor
Young, despite being convicted, is still staying on as mayor
until the municipal election this year. What a trooper! It’s
that never-give-up spirit that served him so well when he

Continued Pg13