What a difference a
week can make

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By Dee Noble

drove over the Pattullo Bridge. It

was about 25 years ago. I was new
to the Vancouver area and still at the
stage where I would mark my route
on a map before driving anywhere
I’d never been before. A group of us
from Buckerfield’s head office decided
to go out for dinner one night after
work. I’d never heard of the Black
Forest Restaurant in South Surrey, but
workmates assured me it was only a
half hour drive from where we were at
1“ Avenue and Boundary Road. All I
had to do was follow them.

That was easier said than done on
that dark, rainy night. I was desperate
to keep up to the car I was following
as we hadn’t made any backup plans if
we got separated. There was no such
thing as cell phones back then, and I’d
forgotten the name of the restaurant we
were going to. I remember following
along blindly, not having a clue where
I was and suddenly realizing we were
on a bridge. I don’t know what speed
we were going, but it was fast enough
that, as the road dropped and curved to
the left at the far end of the bridge, my
car felt as though it was airborne, just
for one heart-stopping instant. Then my
car tires grabbed the pavement again
and I carried on to my destination,
unscathed.

That moment of terror was
enough tG keep me off tiie Pattulio
until 2008, when I decided to take
some courses at Douglas College.
Working at Guildford, the only logical
route to get to the college was over
the Pattullo. My second trip over the
bridge was no less frightening than
the first, but it wasn’t due to excessive
speed. It was during the evening rush
and still daylight, so I could see quite
clearly the rusted side rails, the hole-
pocked bridge deck, the proximity
of the vehicles beside me, and the
distance I’d fall to my death when the

[= never forget the first time I

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whole thing collapsed. I remember
whispering, “Oh my God! Oh my God!
Oh my God!” over and over again to
myself as the traffic crept along.

As my first semester at the college
progressed, I gradually got used to
driving over the bridge. It wasn’t
my favourite part of my routine,
especially the day I hit a deep pothole
at the entrance to the bridge and lost
a hubcap. “It’s a good thing it didn’t
flatten the tire,’ I consoled myself.
While I wasn’t fond of the old bridge,
it would have taken me twice as long
to travel via the Port Mann or Alex
Fraser Bridge. So I was resigned and
content, until that fateful day that they
closed the Pattullo.

I couldn’t believe my ears when
I heard the news. Wasn’t my schedule
crazy enough, juggling fulltime work
plus college classes? Now I had
complicated commuting craziness
to add to my stress load. The first
day I used the Port Mann Bridge, it
took me an hour and a half to get to
Douglas College instead of the usual
20 minutes. As the week progressed,

I experimented with various routes,
one day squinting against the blinding
glare of sun on wet streets, another
day peering through thick fog to try to
read unfamiliar street signs, sharing
my frustration in the traffic jams

with thousands of other stressed-out
commuters. By the end of that first
week, I was a nervous wreck and ready
give up on college until the following
semester.

And then, once more, I couldn’t
believe my ears—the bridge repairs,
which had been forecast to take up to
six weeks, were completed in just one
week. I was thrilled to hear the news.
What a difference that brief closure
had made in my attitude towards this
decrepit piece of infrastructure. The
bridge I feared and loathed had become
the bridge I was overwhelmingly
grateful to have the use of, even if it
did gobble the occasional hubcap.

 

Beans

Smile and nod if you’re

not crazy

By Chloé Bach, Assistant Editor

couple days ago I was happily
sitting in my hairdresser’s
hair, sipping my latte and

looking forward to my new ‘do. I
might not have felt such a sense of
calm had I known that 10 minutes or
so down the road I was going to be,
unrightfully, berated for expressing
that I found a certain commercial that
had just come on the salon television
incredibly touching.

As I sat there chatting away with
my relatively new, once sweet and
unassuming, hairdresser I looked
through the mirror at the television
behind me. On that television was one
of the BC SPCA’s heart-wrenching
commercials set to some eerie and sad
Sarah McLachlan song.

You know, the ones showing
distraught, sad, suffering animals?
Well, being the sucker for animals that
I am, those commercials both make me
cry and want to have a big farm where
I can rescue a whole bunch of those
animals and give them a better life.
Yes, I absolutely have the capacity to
be a crazy dog lady, no joke.

Anyways, upon conveying this
sentiment I was met with an assault
of angry words from my hairdresser.
In fact, what she said back to me was
something along the lines that she’d
have a lot more respect for both Sarah
McLachlan and me if we were to
throw our support behind preventing
abortions, and that “McLachlan should
get real and make a commercial
showing images of murderers ripping
babies out of their mothers.” After
which she continued to spew more of
what I would consider Bible-thumping
madness.

Um, what? I didn’t know that
feeling compassion for abused animals
meant I hated babies! And it doesn’t.
Now, I’m not about to delve into my
opinions regarding Roe v. Wade, but let
it be known I am strongly left-leaning

and not remotely religious. You do the
math.

I have to say, throughout the rest
of the appointment I was in a state
of shock. I really felt like I had been
assaulted, and as the day wore on I
felt more and more angry that I hadn’t
fired back, because it is completely
out of character for me not to. So this
whole run-in got me thinking about
why I was so offended. Was I being
over sensitive? Was she right? And
most importantly, would I ever be able
to go back to her for a haircut?

After stewing for about 24
hours I decided that I was entitled
to feel pissed off. I was insulted for
something I didn’t even bring up and it
is infinitely fucked up that she would
go off on a client, or anyone for that
matter, for saying what I did. Yes,
people are entitled to their opinions,
but expressing them in these hostile
and superfluous fashions just gives
anyone who holds the same viewpoint
a brutal reputation. For example, not
every conservative is Bill O’Reilly
or Ann Coulter, but those two sure
make me feel a lot of disdain for
conservatives in general.

What this boils down to is that I
am sick and tired of angry, extreme
conservatives forcing their opinions
down everyone’s throat, interested or
not. It is obviously not effective, not to
mention uncouth. I mean, I draw major
issue with certain aspects of religion,
but I don’t insult people who are
devout. I am pro-choice, but I don’t
chastise those who are not, at least not
without being provoked.

So while I kept my cool she
proved to be all sorts of crazy by
getting in my face like that. And I
think I did my fellow liberals and our
reputation proud by simply nodding
slowly and plastering a big sarcastic
smile on my face.

That said, anyone know a good
hairdresser?

 

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