J.ALL
OP Contributor

 

I am no longer a Vancouverite; I am now a New
Westminsterite. The commute from the East Side of
Vancouver to Douglas College was getting too much, so
I decided to move closer to school. I was charmed by New
West—the old buildings, the older cemeteries and the
mighty Fraser River—all very romantic. Then I moved
into my apartment on 8th Street.

Moving day was a blistering hot day in July, so I didn’t
pay all that much attention to the many shirtless men
walking around. I would have gone bareback if I had on
a nicer bra and I was in better shape. But as the weeks
wore on and the disproportionate number of shockingly
white men-without-shirts became impossible to ignore, I
started to get annoyed. Christ, it’s nearly October and I
still see guys walking around with their T-shirts tied
around their waists. There really isn’t any excuse for this,
and it isn't like this in Vancouver. I know, I still have
friends there and they send postcards.

Then there are the women. I have never seen so many
ladies in tight low-riders and white tank-tops. They trav-
el in packs, many of them bottle-blonde and all of them
a little bit scary. These chicks are tough and not very
friendly, unless you are a dude in a pick-up truck with a
four-pack of Mike’s Hard in the back. I’m no dude and I
ain't got a vehicle, so I haven't been warmly received. No
hard feelings though, if I spent that much time standing
in line at Barfly, braless in a dingy white tube top, I'd be
testy too. Of course, there are some fashionable men and
women in New West (right?), they just don’t live near me.

Fashion's no big deal—I mean who really gives a rat's ass
about that sort of thing. It’s a vocal group of New
Westminsterites whom I refer to as the Fuck Club that
really stump me. The Fuck Club is likely not a recognized

organization, more of a loosely knit assembly of people
in New West who get together around 11p.m. and yell
the word “fuck” outside my bedroom window. They must
take turns, sometimes it’s a woman, other times a man,
and it happens at different intervals throughout the night.
They don’t really say anything else, just the f-word and
then they're on their way. I’m getting used to it. When I
am on my knees (praying of course) and I lose track of
time, I just wait for a Fuck Club member to come on by
and scream an obscenity up at my apartment. Once I hear
that funky little expletive I know it’s time to wrap things
up with the good lord and tuck in for the night. Oh yeah,
got a message for you guys—“shout out from Jesus to the
F-Club!”—Sorry, He asked me to tell them that.

Its not all bad around here: the vintage shops are choice
or as a good friend of mine (born and bred in New West)
says “chawesome.” My favourite is the SPCA Thrift Store
on 6th and 12th for books and knick-knacks, but the
Salvation Army on Columbia has kick-ass furniture.
Front Street’s “Antique Alley” is also a good place to get
your retro fix: unfortunately, buyers and tourists are hip
to it too, so things are a tad overpriced. The graveyards
are amazing around here; very old and quite beautiful.
The old houses near Queen’s Park are ooh and awe-able
and some of the restaurants are great (vive la Hons!)

So, I suppose like any new neighbourhood, it takes a
while to find where I fit in. I dunno, right now I can’t
wait to graduate and get the hell out of here. But who
knows? Maybe this time next year I’ll be tromping down
the street in my white tube top and low-riders, clutching
the marshmallow white arm of my shirtless fella—on the
way to Barfly—hopelessly in love with New West and
each other. A girl can dream.

 

Wish List

Tom Mellish
OP Contributor

There are a few things on my wish list to spruce up
the college, namely a first aid station, childcare,
more clocks. On the fantasy end of the list there
dwells the nap room, like a cheap rip-off of some
greasy Barbarella set.

I realize that with budgets and raises, and bills to
pay, that it’s easier to meld the security guards with
a medical staff. I'd be reticent to say that the securi-
ty dosen't do a first-rate job of keeping us safe, but
really, we need someone with medical experience on
staff. A first-aid/nursing station would be nice. I’ve
heard a few disgruntled students talk of wandering
around looking for some attention—or even an
aspirin. With the nursing program there could be a
co-op job, shifts, which would look good on a
resume. It’s a win-win situation, and security guards
can focus on their job description.

Next.

How about some child-care for heaven's sake!
DSU, get on this—I never hear a single student
against this, and there are a heckuva bunch of single
moms taking classes here. With Campbell clear-cut-
ting social programs as though they could sate the

@ mm

US appetite for lumber—DSU, let’s see you pushing
for at least some baby-sitting. There’s lots of space in
the DSU building, all we need is some change
tables. C’mon, DSU, earn your pay. What does it
say about us that we aren't providing support? This

crawl into one of those space-age, Japanese cubby-
holes, and zonk out when siesta time hits. A room
full of pillows, or maybe full of balls. A selection of
fake fur suits would be fun, but then no one would
leave the room. It would be Where the Wild Things

should be a top priority, not only of the union, but Are all over again.

the faculty. An on-site daycare would increase the
attendance in classes, and take the burden off the
moms. Again, there is a child-care program at the
college, creating an opportunity for co-op jobs.
Again, looks good on a resume.

I wanna see more clocks—are you people using
biological time or something? I don’t know how
many of us are out there, but I can’t tell half an hour
from a minute. I tell ya, folks, time keeps slipping
into the future. The only clocks I’m conscious of are
at security on the concourse, and on the second
floor of the library. Last time I checked, the pay
phones stopped giving the time. I’ve had the occur-
rence of my watch dying, and being speechless
before the pulsing brood of Mother Douglas. More
clocks, dammit. Hands with inflated, three-fingered
white gloves! Digital is fine by me; even some kind
of androgynous voice announcing the hour like it
was an aboveground monorail station. I’m late for
class already.

And, oh, if it could only come true, a nap room

would be great. It would be nice, but I don’t see it

happening. But if it were a perfect world I could

    

Well, powers that be, I realize that this last sug-
gestion is the most outrageous—hopefully, though,
it puts the others into perspective, especially child-
care.

Here’s looking at you, kid.

lll