Reverse Job Ad

Over the last few weeks/decades, I have been actively (well, partially. I've been doing a lot of sitting) job hunting. And like anyone who has ever found themselves scouring the internets for something other than pornography, I've been reading a large number of online job ads.

Picture completely unrelated

For the eight of you that have read my previous post on job hunting on craigslist, you are well aware of my contempt of people that post them jobs, especially if the job they are posting is for someone to post job ads. But, after more research, I feel I must extend my gaze beyond the backyard online garagesale and consider all ads everywhere. Different sites, more professional sites, must give us all hope. Right?

Picture also completely unrelated

And as a natural response, I feel it only my duty as a comedian and/or charlatan to respond in kind and provide a voice for the other side. So I present to you: the Reverse Job Ad.

Wanted: Employer (multiple opportunities)

That's you!

About the employee:

And this is me

Our employee is a motivated, charming and occasionally prolific human being with full functionality of both his body parts and natural bodily functions. In the course of regular operation, the employee consumes nutrients through a semi-automated digestion system and possesses near-superhuman ability to detect when poop is coming and then relocating to the appropriate area of the building. The employee's brain is also an industry-leader in changing electrical impulses to physical actions and non-physical cognitive sensations.

Position Summary:

We are looking for an employer responsible for a business or organization with a minimum of 2-5 years experience in existing in an actual (and currently active) reality. In this role you will be responsible for providing a location for work, rules to abide by and stimulus adequate to keep the employee from sleeping and/or wishing for his life to end.

That feeling is best left to divorce or the cancellation of a truly original TV show

Major Duties & Responsibilities

-Do not allow/encourage employee to die (non-negotiable)

-Provide robots where cost-effective and appropriate. Robots provided should be up to date with current robot-standards: calculators and computers are appropriate, abacuses and Ouija boards are not

-Maintain understanding that employee is human at all times

-Provide other, similarly skilled humans for interaction and possible occasional lunch sharing purposes

-Provide other more skilled humans to direct stimulus for the employee. These human should have both greater responsibility and more monetary compensation, but maintain understanding that his/her shit still stinks

-Provide employee with paper representing monetary value in two week increments

-Direct employee with words that the employee is able to comprehend without consulting a big book with words in it

-Allow little humans belonging to others to be brought into the office as often as possible with the understanding that looking at it technically constitutes as employee “doing his job” 

 Some people consider kids annoying nuisances; I prefer to think of them as distractions that smell like candy

About You

Skills and Qualifications

-More money being made by the company than being spent by the company

-Extensive background in not being evil (volcano-lair builders are exempt)

-Promotion system based on merit and not physical prowess and/or breast-growing ability

-Committed to not being hit by a meteor by an angry God

-Does not refer to potential employees (whether employee or other human competition) as 'dynamic, flexible team players with strong communication and negotiation skills'

-Must have soul (and not the R&B version of soul, though that kind of soul would be an asset)

-Willing to provide employee with medical and retirements benefits equal to or exceeding those that would typically be provided to an eldery aunt's beloved pet

  This dog has significantly better dental than I have or will ever expect to get

Our employee offers a competitive package of confidence, intelligence and charisma and will gladly present himself in his best/cheapest suit for individualized interpretive (and sweaty) performance art. The employee also offers significant experience in being less incompetent than the last guy and is committed to wear pants whenever possible/convenient.

Call 1-800-PLEASE-FOR-THE-LOVE-GOD-HIRE-ME now!

How To : Write a Craigslist Job Ad

Often, I am asked, “Hey, Francis, I'm in charge of hiring for a large, possibly international company and we've been putting up ads on the local craigslist. The shitty part is, people seem to want to apply for them. Lots of people, 100's even 1000's. So Francis, as you seem to know things, what should I do?”

This is all too common, unfortunately. Most experts seem to suggest that this is due to some kind of correlation between people wanting work and people not having it. As for me, being more qualified due to the fact I am writing this and they are not, I suggest it to be a different problem. Your troubles of having to do too much work boils down to how you are not using Craigslist effectively.

Take this ad for example,

A small but growing architecture company is seeking a project assistant to help expand our capabilities in our local Vancouver office. Position requires strong organizational skills and well-developed aptitude in group problem solving. Bachelor's degree or technical school training in a related discipline would be beneficial, as would previous project assistant experience. Please forward your resume and cover letter in confidence to Mary Jenkins, HR Manager at mjenkins@hetherarchitecture.ca

Now look at this ad subjectively. Its short, to the point, gives a basic idea of the job requirements and allows the viewer to make an educated decision as to whether or not they want the job. In craigslist terms, however, this ad can be summarized into one word; wrong.

First things first, length. This is far too short. One may think that since craigslist is technically taking over from the newpaper want-ads, which were even shorter, short would be good, but again, you would be wrong.

 On craigslist, this ad would be listed under men seeking men

All craigslist job postings should top the 1000 word mark, at least. Think less pamphlet, more biblical text. You want to make sure the viewer is thoroughly intimidated by the amount of multi-syllabic words you can cram into a paragraph without actually saying anything. Make bullet points, then put bullet points within the bullet points. Remember more is more and therefore better.

Secondly, what this ad is asking for is far too understanding and reasonable. Hey, your company wants to be the boss, right? No sense in acting timid, come right out and say it “We need you so much less than you need us.”

 Sometimes I can't help it. I'm just too fucking good at being real.

A good way in doing that is to demand that all applicants meet some arbitrary experience requirement. For instance, all craigslist job ads, as a matter of uniformity, should include the phrase “At least X years experience, with at least (X-2) years direct experience in (precisely what the job is)” The bigger the X, the better the applicants you will get. Its fairly common knowledge that most 25-year professionals routinely scan craigslist for job leads. I mean, where else would they look?

Hello, is this the internet? Fuck. You wouldn't happen to know it's number, would you?

It's also important to use your caps-lock as often and as indiscriminately as possible. Don't let those petty would-be employees think that they will be considered based on merit on not just a number. Be a man about it. Tell them they MUST have decades of experience with some weird management program that even Bill Gates wouldn't know about.

Capitalize everything: make it seem like you, the employer, are yelling at them for not being good enough. For example, “Only candidates with AT LEAST seven years experience working BAREFOOT in the fields a Southern GUATEMALAN coffee farm will be considered.” is a perfect way of letting it be known that your particular Starbucks franchise doesn't fuck around.

The compensation line is also a great way to show the viewers who's really in control. Its of paramount importance to be as vague as possible. “Competitive” gives absolutely no indication whatsoever of the pay scale and is a perfect way to keep them in the dark. It can mean so many things; it could mean the you expect to pay above the industry standard according to national job surveys. It could also mean that you expect that their wage to be directly related to the ability to best other candidates in mandatory nude-limbo contests. After all, competition is competition and words are words.

Here are a few other good ones: “Based on experience,” “Negotiable” or my personal favourite, “Hourly.”

It's a good thing you mentioned I'd be paid hourly because, at this moment, I feel like a prostitute

While we are still on the subject of compensation, don't fall into the trap that is expecting your would-be applicants to have common sense. If you absolutely MUST include a wage (see what I did there, that's a callback), make sure you write the minimum. Not the minimum number of words, write the minimum wage. Remind them, despite the 3 years experiences carrying curry-based dishes with their LEFT hand and a Masters degree in Indian Culinary History the job requires, how much, at the end of day, they are actually worth to you.

Finally, the email address. Don't be stupid enough to give the official company address, with both your title and name. That would mean the would-be applicant would be actually able to do some background research and know where it is they're sending their confidential work history. Where's the trust? Craigslist is full of scams, but these whiny pussies should know instinctively that you're the real deal. I mean, just look at all the big words! The randomly-generated craigslist email address is really all they need, and honestly, they should be thankful to get it.

Well, now that you have a better understanding of how craigslist job ads work, you can get started at finding that perfect person. At the very least, those thousands of potentially qualified people will stop pestering you and you can go back to doing what you do best, being happy you already have a job.

Fucking. Sweet.

Why Bowser from Super Mario isn't really a Villain

So, I've been playing a significant amount of my room-mates' Wii the past few days and, after finishing the original Super Mario Galaxy, I had me a revelation. Bowser isn't bad. He isn't. For years, I've been assisting some plumber on mushrooms in destroying his Koopa Empires, but I never really stopped and put myself in Bowser's shoes...or in this case, giant dino-claws.

In that light, I decided to delve into my brain and come up with 5 reasons why Bowser isn't so evil.


1. He's only trying to provide for his family

Before you condemn someone of wrong-doing, you really should look at their motivations. A man robbing a bank may be wrong, but what if he's got kids starving at home? Still wrong, but really, wouldn't you do the same thing?

But if you think about it, that's Bowser in a nutshell; just a single dad trying to give his kids a better chance at life than he had as a young turtle-dinosaur. That's why he keeps usurping the monarchy of the mushroom kingdom, he's got mouths to feed. And considering the average size of those mouths, I can't say I blame him.

 This one's already wearing a bib with another mouth on it.  Geez.

And notice this, he provides not just for his kids, but for his whole family. Uncles, cousins, if you got some Bowser blood in you, chances are Bowser's probably built you a castle to live in. Now thats taking care of your flock. And its always a new castle, too, not a hand-me down castle, a cheap, second-hand castle, NEW Motherfucking CASTLES.

Which brings up another important point...


2. He wants to improve the mushroom kingdom

What does Bowser do every time he takes over? He starts building shit. Tons and tons of shit.

Every Bowser reign is marked by massive ventures to improve the living conditions of the average mushroom. He's building green-pipe sewer lines, constructing roads (even ones made entirely out of rainbows); he even gave the Mushroom Kingdom teleportation technology.  On a related note, warping the whistle is also one of my favorite euphemisms for oral sex.

I

This one's not too bad either

Ever wonder why every Mario game is full of stacks of seemingly useless bricks just sitting or floating in mid-air? They're not obstacles, they're building supplies.  Mario is screwing around and making life hard for some poor Koopa superintendent (or Koopa-tendent, if you will).

Even those ungrateful, traitorous mushrooms are getting a piece of the Bowser stimulus package with their cute, government-sanctioned mushroom huts they seem to love living in. Notice how Mario can always get to those huts...you know why? Because some giant evil dinosaur built a path to it. Enjoy your frog-suit, you prick.

3. He is bringing the power to the people

This point requires a bit more brain, but still, its true. Think of what the Mushroom Kingdom is when Bowser isn't around.

It's an old-school monarchy inhabited by millions of midgets with funky hats. Its run by a King and Queen who are never seen, who instead have seemingly left all their power in the hands of their daughter, an airhead with the mental capacity of lawn furniture, who spends most of her days in a meadow with her plumber boyfriend, staring at clouds. And, on a side note, where exactly did Mario get his plumbing training? I want to see a ticket, dammit. I don't trust that face. (I think its the mustache).

So Bowser takes over, and then what. Notice that no mushroom people are ever killed or tortured when he comes in. Hold on, I'll let you picture Toad trapped in Guantanamo. Done? Good. Sure, when Bowser makes his entrance, he's usually firing cannons at them, but it's a coup, you can't exactly just knock on the door and ask for the keys. Basically, all he's doing is walking in, doing a bunch of improvements and giving his kids jobs. Which may seem a bit like blantant nepotism, but come on...he's replacing a MONARCHY!

4. He's a champion of diversity and anti-segregation

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Bowser is the turtle-monster equivalent of Martin Luther King Jr.

I have a dream...BWAAAAHAAAHAAA

But think of the diversity this guy brings to the table. First, he's got his own people, the Koopas (aka the turtles that are so evil, they walk back and forth between stationary objects, waiting for a fat guy to jump on them). Then the Goombas (the non-loved mushroom freaks), the Lakitu (the turtles with clouds), the Boos (the ghosts) and, most of all, the Shy Guys (the ones with hockey masks and a fear of talking to girls).

Pictured : Pure, unfiltered evil (Source : Toad)

Before the dinosaur came along, these beings (or as the racist mushroom people called them, “monsters”) weren't welcome in the kingdom. Fucking cold. Especially the Goombas, those are like your brothers, you mushroom fucks. No wonder they got behind Bowser.

And Bowser does what Bowser does; he invades, takes control of the head of government and lets his people into the promised land, where, for the most part, they just exist. Until, of course, the aforementioned fat guy gets in a stomping mood.

 Hey, that was my shoe. Give it back or … AHHH! He's going to crush me with my own shoe! Prick.

5. He's a renaissance man, with hobbies and intellectual pursuits

But beyond all the goodwill ventures he undertakes, lets look at what Bowser actually does. He invents things, invests in industry (especially those involving lava) and keeps (and presumably breeds) exotic pets and plants (and sometimes both...I'm looking at you, Pirahna Plant).

He's a freak of nature, but you really can't deny that he's a pretty smart one. Not only has he figured out the Power Stars, but also how to build flying fortresses, cities in the clouds, bring the dead back to life (even if all that is left are bones) and even created his own Galaxy...twice. Fuck.

And all this was presumably achieved without any formal education. There's no Dr. Bowser (though there is a Dr. Mario...another qualification I think the fat guy pulled out of his pixellated ass). If Bowser were real, he wouldn't be in prison, he'd be having philosophical debates on the creation of the universe with Stephen Hawking. And tell me you wouldn't transfer colleges just to take a physics courses taught by this...

If you turn to page 63 … BWAAAAHAAA … Excuse me. Term papers are due Friday.

In summary, Bowser, despite needing a serious shake-up in his public relation department, ain't such a bad guy. Remember that the next time you swing him around by the tail and throw him around onto his back, while his kids watch in absolute horror.


On the other hand, Wario is a fucking douche.

WA-WA-WARIO WIN!!!

Olympics

Well, its the 1st of February 2010 and here in Vancouver, the Olympics are nearly upon us. This means that within a matter of days, the world will be coming to Vancouver to watch Olympic athletes live and the people of Vancouver will be watching those same Olympic athletes on a 14 inch black and white TV on a milk crate sitting in the middle of a 1400 dollar-a-month bachelor suite while eating a 6 week supply of Ramen noodles.

Ah, the thrill of sport.

A few months ago, VANOC (Vancouver Olympic Committee) got together with Vancouver city council and passed a bylaw on advertising that will go into effect for the duration of the Games. The bylaw states that within a 40-block radius in downtown Vancouver, all advertising, including those appearing on t-shirts and newspaper, will have to be approved by VANOC. For example, a t-shirt that reads “Free Tibet” would not be allowed because the it is advertising a cause not officially supported by VANOC.

Now, when this first came up, many called this bylaw unconstitutional and an act against the right to free speech. I don't, I think its great. The second the bylaw comes into effect, I'll be walking the streets wearing a t-shirt with the phrase “FRANCIS BRIAN SHAW HAS A GIANT COCK” on it.

Why would I want to do that, you may ask. Because that's something I want read back to me in a court of law. Repeatedly.

My poor lawyer will be standing there. “Your honour, my client requests that the court reporter repeat that last line again.” (whisper, whisper, whisper) “And he requests that, this time, she takes off her glasses and say it in a “sultry” voice.”

Remember when VANOC sent representatives to Beijing for the 2008 games and they came back saying they “learned a lot from the Chinese”? Yeah, this isn't what I thought they meant.

Even the official Canadian clothing manufacturer, Hudson Bay Company is buying into the stupidity. I saw a poster the other day that had a guy in a sweater with CANADA across the chest. Underneath, it said, “We were made for this.”

Now I'm no Canadian history buff, but I'm pretty sure we weren't. I doubt the British signed the British North America Act and went, “Ok, Canada, you're a country. You have 143 years starting....NOW.”

If they wanted to use that slogan, they should have asked the native peoples and put it with the advertising that warns people about potential pickpockets.

WATCH OUT FOR CANADIAN THEIVES...WE WERE MADE FOR THIS.

HBC is also having big problems with competitors, such as Roots and Lululemon, who HBC says are violating their exclusive contract with the Canadian Olympic Team by making clothing similar to the official HBC clothing.

A little tip for next time: if you don't want other companies ripping off your trademark, make it a little more complicated than the word CANADA on a red background. Maybe a funkier font; its fucking bold Tahoma with the caps-lock on.

And maybe, try making the clothing a bit more athletic-looking and a bit less like that one retarded kid whose mother sewed his name onto each piece of clothing in big block letters so “he wouldn't lose it.”

Speaking of symbols, VANOC takes the cake with their chosen symbol, the Inukshuk which is apparently what the Inuit hunters used to mark what direction they were heading. That is until the bastard Europeans came along and showed them the signpost with a fucking arrow on it, which, at the time, must have blown their minds.

Nevertheless, Vancouver Olympic Committee made an Inuit symbol their official trademark. As someone who lives in Vancouver, I just have one question:

Of all the ethnicities to exploit, why did they pick the one ethnicity Vancouver doesn't have?

They literally could have picked any other symbol from any other culture, and it would have made more sense than the inukshuk. They could have had a picture of Zeus dropkicking Thor on top of a pint of Guinness and you would've had more people nodding in agreement, going “Well, at least VANOC didn't forget about my culture.”

And if they had Zeus eating Chow Mein and Thor wielding a Kirpan, they would've pleased the majority.

Ah, screw it. I can't be grumpy. These next 6 weeks are going to be something I'm never going to forget. Yes, all bitching aside, I'll be telling my grandkids about this time in my life with a combination of pride and accomplishment.

Which reminds me, I got to go. My AMTRAK train to Portland is leaving in an hour. See you fuckers in March.

FBS

Comedy with a Message

When speaking of comedy, there's an old saying: you can't teach funny. Generally, this means that someone who doesn't have some form of natural talent associated with humor can't be taught how to truly be funny. These are things like timing, pacing, rhythm and a good storyteller or comedian will use these all at once without even thinking about them.

Moving further along the same thought, nobody can truly teach YOU how to make YOU funny. Your sense of humor and what it is you find funny is entirely unique to you. While someone else may have some good advice on a technical aspect of a joke or two, your style and the subjects you choose to tackle are decided by what makes you laugh.

Simple, right? If a thought you think makes you laugh, you can turn around and perform it, and providing you've built your stage skills properly, you will be a funny comedian.

Now, in terms of me personally, the thoughts that make me laugh the hardest are also the ones that mean something underneath the surface. To take an example from my current act, I have a joke about the Flesh Light (a male masturbatory aid, which resembles a vagina stuffed into a Pringles can). The main premise is “We've had dildos for decades, why did it take so long to invent the flesh light? It's like someone inventing the lightbulb and then no one thinking of inventing the socket.”

On the surface, it's just another joke about a stupid sex-toy. And largely, it is. Underneath though, there's a message of society using advancing technology to fill needs that didn't exist until the need was made possible by technology. Again, kind of deep for a sex-toy joke, but the message is why I continue to perform it.

I'm mentioning all this for one reason, and oddly enough, its not to highlight my flesh light joke (though it is kind of clever, eh?)

I have a substantial amount of material regarding the fact that in April 2009, I was diagnosed with epilepsy. On the surface, the material is just a pissed off kid making light of a serious event, but again, I like to write things with a message. In this case, the message is significantly more important to me than the joke, in-so-far that the material is less comedy routine and more motivational speech with jokes.

The message of the epilepsy material is four-fold:
1) Epilepsy is a serious condition
2) The people who have epilepsy are regular people, not “people I've never met”
3) Most people's perceptions of epilepsy are incorrect
4) No matter how serious a condition is, humor can be found

Currently, I perform the material very infrequently, waiting until I have at least 7-8 minutes to perform it. I've tried to shorten it down, but every time I've tried, I find I leave a bad taste in my mouth because I've missed an important part of my message.

For example, just 2 weeks ago, I did two epilepsy jokes at the end of an 8 minute set. No sooner had I said the first joke did I see a young man, obviously at a table with friends, turn to his friends and pretend to have a seizure, complete with stuck out tongue and shaking limbs. His friends howled.

I wanted to leap of the stage and beat him with the mic stand. I refrained, because, at least to me, this was my fault. I didn't give him a reasonable exploration into the reality of epilepsy, and so this kid decided to add what he thought, for comedic effect.

That incident with the kid in the crowd is also why I refuse (and will continue to refuse) to add any seizure simulation to my act. I mention seizures, of course, but I don't act them out. I've been told by numerous otherwise well-meaning people that I need to add it because “it's what the crowd wants to see.”

To me, that's crossing a line between making fun of a condition, and making fun of people with that condition. If I'm on stage, pretending to have a seizure, I'm telling the crowd that what they're seeing is just a joke. And that is why I refuse to do it. I'm not going out of my way to appease the exact knee-jerk reactions I hope to raise some awareness against.

And beyond that, if it's not funny to me, then its not in my act. I do appreciate the advice, but while you can't teach funny, you can use funny to teach something else.

Now if you excuse me, I have to go to a party. Apparently, epileptics are hot commodities for the party-throwing crowd. And really, you can see why. I make one hell of a shaken martini.

GET IT, ITS A SHAKE JOKE!

Now that I find funny.

All is well, and my brain is (not) broke.

FBS

Walking around a drug-store

I was walking around a drugstore the other day. I was feeling a bit under the weather and I was looking for some Nyquil, which as we all know, is the sick person equivalent of the recovering heroin addict giving up on sobriety and going off in search of smack.

Like most sick people, I was not in the mood to ask anybody where to look, so I went aisle to aisle, reading the little placards that hang above the aisles. There was an aisle with only two items on the placard. It read, “Family Planning” followed by, underneath, “Laxatives.”

I couldn't help but wonder to myself if anyone, in a time of panic, had used the items from the second group for the items in first group's purpose. Disgusting, but I'm fairly sure it would work.

On the end of one aisle, I saw a new product released just in time for the holidays from the Duraflame log people. Duraflame, now with Coffee-Flavouring. Who is this product for? I guess its for people who enjoy the relaxing experience of sitting beside a roaring fire with a cup of coffee, but hate actually drinking coffee.

Finally getting to the Nyquil aisle, I now had to make the difficult decision of no-name brand or actual Nyquil. Strange thoughts always seem to pass through my head during these decisions.

“I wonder how the no-name people cracked the Nyquil formula?”

“How long did it take them? Months, years?”

“If I got the no-name brand and it didn't work, would I be man enough to return it and admit to the cashier that I'm a cheap bastard?”

“Why is the no-name brand $15 for 270 mL and actual NyQuil $17 for 260? I wonder how much it cost for 270mL of heroin? It may not help me get better, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't care about my cold symptoms and at the same time, maybe I could save some money.”

Also, I had to decide between Dayquil or Nyquil. Really, both make you really high and unable to do anything, so I guess it basically boils down to what colour you want your tongue to be, green or yellow.

I wonder what happens if you mix Dayquil and Nyquil. Is it like the red/blue gum in Mission Impossible, you mix the two and they explode? If so, I think the drugstore needs better security to guard against the terrorists. The small Pakistani women wearing the neon yellow vest doesn't seem like she could take down a terrorist cell by herself.

I got the real green Nyquil, just in case some friends came by and perused my medicine chest. This way, I figured they wouldn't judge me.

On the way out of the drugstore, I passed the feminine hygiene aisle. There was one of those warehouse packs of tampons with a giant tear in one of the corners where someone had evidently broken in and stolen 5 or 6 tampons.

I hope they never caught the shoplifter on this one. The Pakistani women seems nice and something tells me the person who stole those tampons was not in a docile mood.

Some things just aren't worth the 8 bucks an hour.

Francis Brian Shaw

Story time - How I Broke my Ankle (part 2)

Anyways, the story. I broke my leg doing laundry. It was December and I was starting the exam period after my third year of University. With 5 hours until my first exam, I decided I had studied enough and just needed to do something to take my mind off it. Something like laundry.

I was living in Fairview residence at UBC at the time and you had to go outside to get the laundry facilities. I piled up my laundry, put it in the basket and headed out.

Unfortunately, I made the decision to check my laundry card balance before, which means I had to walk along this path behind the complex. And being December in Vancouver and it had snowed in November, there was ice on the sidewalk. Not a lot, but I was 21 and I figured I could handle going over the odd chunk.

Nope. One slip, I heard two quick snaps in my foot (which apparently was the sound of an ankle exploding) and the basket went up and the clothes everywhere.

Now, a normal person would panic, but not me. I didn't panic because I had a cell phone. Finally, I was actually going to use my phone in an emergency, which is what I always told my mother was the reason I needed one. I dial 9-1-1 and I get somebody who thinks she's having a bad day.

“9-1-1, what?”

I start strong: “Yes, operator. I just fell down on some ice, and pretty sure I just broke my leg. I need an ambulance right away.”

“Alright, sir, where are you?”

“On the ground.” It's reassuring to know, that even when I'm in intense pain and going into shock, I'm still capable of being a smart ass.

“I'm at UBC, on the road behind Fairview Residence. It's just off of Westbrook Mall.”

Deep sigh. “What the cross-street, sir?”

“The what?”

“The cross-street, sir. I need the cross-street to send an ambulance.”

“I'm not at a cross-street. I'm on a sidewalk and I can't see the sign, it's too far away.”

“Well, can you get closer to the sign?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem. I'll just get up and, oh wait, that's right. MY ANKLE IS BROKEN.” Again, the smart ass is alive and well.

About this time, a passerby comes by and helps me out. Very nice girl. She takes the phone and deals with the ambulance people for me and helps me collect my laundry, etc. She was told the ambulance would be 20 minutes, tops. She had an exam to rush to, so I sat there waiting.

Eventually someone from the residence office comes out and hangs out with me. First aid says that you shouldn't more someone with a broken limb so I stayed where I was. It was only going to be 20 minutes, I can do that.

Three hours pass while I sit on the frozen ground.

Somebody finally comes for me: a firetruck (not kidding, a real firetruck).

Apparently, the BC ambulance service, being the well-funded and well-staffed organization it is, decided that, on a Wednesday in December, the City of Vancouver only needed one ambulance on duty. That's right, one ambulance. 750,000 people, any of whom could fall ill at any moment and one ambulance. And because I happened to break my ankle during the same time as 2 car accidents, I got a firetruck.

The firemen were nice enough, though. Confused as to why they were sent out, but nice (one of them joked about throwing me into a tree, just so they could use the truck's ladder to get me down). They did the first aid thing, gave me oxygen, checked my vitals, told me I wasn't going to die (probably). They finally got a call to go do real firemen stuff, but luckily, the one ambulance was en route. Great.

I watched three big firemen guys get back into their truck and drive away. A half-hour later, the ambulance arrives and two women get out. Now, there's nothing wrong with female paramedics, but it was a problem that both were under 5 feet tall and probably weighed under 100 lbs apiece. I'm 6'0 and, at the time, 195 lbs.

So after lifting my own ass into their ambulance, they take me to the hospital, finally, after 4 hours. I called my professor from the ambulance (for the exam that had just missed) and had my room-mate collect my laundry. Usually this is where the story would usually end with a “And I lived happily ever after,” but this is one of my stories.

The hospital they took me to was UBC Hospital. From where I sat, for 4 hours, that desolate spot behind the complex, I could see only one building beyond Fairview. It was UBC Hospital. The ambulance ride was one minute, forty-five seconds long (yes, I timed it).

And it cost me $65.

Thank you BC Ambulance service.

Francis Brian Shaw

Thought for the day:
I've always thought my worst quality was my inability to make a decision and stick to it. No wait, that's not it...