© the other press e Opinions Port-a-Jane? Theresa Brodie OP Contributor I spent this past weekend the same way I spent nine other weekends over the spring and summer—at the Cart BC track in Chilliwack for my son’s kart racing. While I used to attend to provide encouragement and to help out with set up, take down, and cart repairs, I now attend as a volunteer, selling pit passes at the front gate. Now, perhaps this job has turned me into a bit of a busy-body, for I certainly have a great view of all the comings and goings at the track. But this past week- end, I witnessed something that really got under my skin. There are no flush toilets at the track as of yet. Instead, there are five portable toilets, all identical save for one small detail. One of these portable toilets has the easily recognizable symbol of a human figure wear- ing a triangle shape, which represents a dress. In spite of this symbol being displayed in white on a dark green background, that particular toilet receives visits from both genders. Perhaps the men and boys were simply oblivious to the distinction. This in mind, I saw it as my duty to help them out. With black permanent marker outlined with orange highlighter on white paper, I drew an arrow pointing upward and wrote, “This symbol means this bath- room is for WOMEN ONLY. Please be considerate.” Now, I’m usually not one to draw many distinctions between the sexes, but I understood the reasoning. The women at the track had learned from experience that some men tend to be rather reckless with their “pea shooters” (pun intended) and some women—Id even venture to say most women—don' particularly September 17, 2003 enjoy sitting on a wet seat. In addition to leaving behind wet seats, some of these men are leaving behind rather stifling, permeating odours. So, fine, a distinction is made. I taped my sign up on the door directly below the symbol, and I kept a closer eye on things to gauge the success of my contribution. Sure enough, the sign seemed to have the desired effect. But, as is often the case, someone came along to pee on my parade. One of the racers, a teenage boy, rides past my tent on his bike and disembarks next to the row of toilets. I’m watching, curious. He reaches for the handle on the ladies’ john. He looks up, pauses, reads the sign, opens the door, and steps inside. Man, was I pissed. So, I watched and I waited...and waited. It seemed this individual had chosen the comfort of the ladies’ room to partake in a long, private moment. Lovely. The longer I waited, the more I fumed. I was all ready with a, “So, you don’t read too well,” which I intend- ed to follow-up with a suggestion that he try growing a pair of breasts before his next trip to the ladies’ room. It was at the peak of my annoyance that my hus- band clued in and informed me, with a look of con- cern that the young man I was ready to unleash on was —get this—his boss’s son. Interpretation: Let it go. Hold your tongue. My blood was boiling and I could say nothing? My wrath was to go unvented? Not entirely. I am, after all, writing this and attempting to appeal to those who share this man’s arrogance. Really, with only one toilet free of christening and fumes, what’s a dame to do? To Hook or Not to Hook Millie Strom OP Contributor The hook. Or rather, the absence of the hook. I often put off writing a piece and wait for the spectacular lead—or hook—to fall off my lips, or fingertips, onto my keyboard. I can get so hung up about the hook that many times I lose interest in my subject. It got worse after I took Daniel Wood’s creative magazine writing class at Simon Fraser University. Wood, who calls himself British Columbia’s best mag- azine writer—and I suspect it might be true—intro- duced the hook, and he had each student find ten examples of great leads and poor leads. He then read to the class a magnificent example that everyone— except me—praised profusely. Wood observed that, in all his years of teaching this class, I was the only stu- dent who didn’t find the hook compelling, but found it somewhat difficult to follow. And, as it turns out, this particular hook was the first paragraph from Tom Wolfe's best-selling novel made into a major movie in 1983, The Right Stuff; making me forever self-con- scious about what is and what is not a good lead. And then, if I do manage to get my first few sen- tences going in my head or scribbled on a napkin while I ride the SkyTrain or the bus, these thoughts Page 8 e_http://www.-otherpress.ca and scribbles are rarely transcribed into actual print. The scribbles may be illegible or, before I can begin, I decide that first my desk needs clearing, or my emails need answering, or my e-lists need reading, or my phone calls...well you get the picture. I swear I won't have another good thought on pub- lic transit unless I’m carrying my mini-cassette recorder to immortalize these musings. Then I could come home and plug the recorder into Dragon voice recognition software—which I haven't bought yet—to download into a Word document. But I can’t use the recorder until I transfer my Madness 101 tapes (the lecture series I hosted in 2002), to regular audiotape or to digital files on my computer, and the latter reminds me it would be so much easier with a digital recorder. But, I keep putting off the market research I like to do before I buy an electronic product and then, if I ever did buy it, I wouldn’t have money for my favourite pastime, frequenting cafes and watching movie matinees. One excuse begets another. And when I do get writing something, I suddenly become fatigued and need to stop and refresh myself with a nice cup of tea or coffee. By the time I get up to boil the water and steep the tea, and find my favourite china cup and matching saucer, I realize I’ve been inside too long and need to go out for a little walk and grab a good cup of espresso, but not around the corner on Hastings street near my home because I've worn a path to these cafes over the years, but rather, I need to walk up to the Drive for an Americano, and I expect to soak up some ambiance from the Drive to inspire me. But the only thing that happens—I end up not writing . There is hope for the writer in me, though. This time, for my inaugural column, I sat myself down on the first empty seat on the SkyTrain, pulled out a pen- cil, clipboard, and paper, and wrote with little hesita- tion the first words that came to my mind: the hook. Now that ain’t such a bad lead. But the grammar is something else. PS. Visit Stan Persky’s website for a small, but nice collection of great leads. Perksy is a political commentator, irreverent, and cheeky, as you'll see in, “Browsing Yourself.” Catch him at Brian Faweett’s web café, .