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Last Call

Amanda Aikman, OP Columnist

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about getting the hell out of Dodge. And by Dodge, I mean Vancouver.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve lived here for six years now and there are many things I still appreciate—like the multicultural populace, mild weather, and mountain views. Not to mention the fabulous restaurants, decent shopping, and lovely foliage. But there are black clouds that come with those silver linings, and I’m not referring to the rain.

For instance, there’re the scumbags. I realize scumbags may not be the politically cor- rect term, but then, the terms spewing out of the scumbags in my neighbourhood are not politically correct either. Of course, I’m not referring to those individuals suffering from mental illnesses, physical disabilities, or alcohol and drug dependencies—I’m talking about the young thugs that hang out in the Fraser/Broadway area near where I live. I don’t mind being asked for money or cigarettes when I’m out and about—that’s standard fare round these parts—but I’m not particularly fond of having obscenities and threats of violence yelled in my face. Which is exactly what happened to my boyfriend and me the other day. It was 6pm, still light out, and we were walking the two blocks from our apartment to the bus stop, when an angry, scary-looking man screamed at my boyfriend that he was going to “Smash his fucking face in” because we didn’t have a cigarette for him. Lovely. And just once, I’d like to be able to return a video to the corner store without walking the gauntlet of pushy panhandlers that have taken up residence there.

Okay, so it’s one thing to be afraid to walk the streets of my neighbourhood, but at least I can take comfort within the confines of my own home, right? Well that used to be the case, until our new tenant moved in. Let’s call him Mousey. Mousey isn’t paying rent, which sucks, since our landlords just raised it by 30 dollars a month. We tried to do the right thing at first. We bought living traps and cleaned out the apartment from top to bot- tom. Spent the entire day cleaning out the crawl space and hauling boxes to the dump. We even bought a fancy sonic mouse deterrent thing that plugs into the wall and glows and everything. ’'m sure Mousy appreciated that expensive glowing piece of crap, since appar- ently it helped light his way to our kitchen table where he left us a pile of feces as a thank you. After that we launched an all-out tactical assault. Sorry, mouse lovers, but he was ask- ing for it. We filled every nook and cranny with expensive poison and fast-killing traps, but still no luck. Plenty of mouse shit, but no luck.

So, we ate now thinking of moving. You should see all the great basement hovels you can rent in Vancouver with a thousand-dollar-a-month budget. Ridiculous. Not that ?m bitter. I mean, after all, it’s the beginning of March and there are flowers on the trees already. Vancouver is lovely. And I bought a lottery ticket today. Nine million dollars. If my numbers come up, who knows, I might even be able to afford an upper-floor two-bed- room rental on the west side.