No Job, But Free Yoga

A recent lock-out at the cemetery across from our house inspired me to record the unkept state of the grounds.

At 19, when I was young and idealistic, I started a BFA in theater performance. Despite the lectures and warnings of those around me, I was determined to do what I loved, even if that meant waiting on tables for the rest of my life. I dragged out the degree, taking five years to finish it in all. I walked the stage at Place des Arts, wrapped my hands around my degree and was suddenly hit with a wave of fear. I had fought to have the day off of my crappy union job to attend my graduation and realized at that moment that I was no longer a student, but suddenly an out of work actor. I got scared, suddenly realizing what I had done. I called myself a teacher and boarded a plane to Korea, returning a year later with teaching experience and a new outlook on life. I was optimistic, enthusiastic and sure that I could easily secure work back in Montreal.

It seems I was wrong. After two and a half months of desperately looking for work, I finally landed a job teaching English at a private French school. But it was short lived. The woman I was replacing returned from sick leave and I was job hunting again. This time seemed easier, however. I was only looking for something short term- just for the summer. I hit restaurants with my cv and was sure that I had landed the first job I interviewed for. A friend of mine was a manager there, and on top of that I had run into an old co-worker during my interview who already worked there. He sat down and told his manager all the reasons he should hire me and concluded my interview by informing him of all the hoops he would jump through to get me to work at his restaurant. The manager told me that as far as he was concerned I had the job and he would call me in a couple days. No call. I left four messages, no call back. I accepted that they had passed me over, for whatever reason and hit the street again with a stack of cvs. A new Irish pub downtown interviewed me twice, finishing the second interview by telling me that training would start on Monday and they would call to confirm. No call. I called them and the very laid back manager rudely informed me that they had not made any decisions yet regarding staffing. Click. No phone call back. Next, I interviewed at a language school. The group interview started with some chit-chat, revealing that I was the more experienced of the three in our group. The owner came in, going on and on about the school's new and innovative methods, without ever revealing what was so new or innovative about what they were doing. He was unable to answer any of my questions and hardly looked at me throughout what he called 'an interview'. It was obvious that the school's new and innovative approach included brushing off experienced teachers. I had accepted that I didn't have the job before I left the office. The man called me two days later to confirm that he had hired one of the less experienced teachers. Two weeks later, he called me back to say that they were opening another new class of students and he would like to meet with me to discuss the possibility of working together. We met, talked, and decided that I would start teaching at this 'new and innovative' school starting on Monday. I turned up for a few hours to observe a few classes, in an effort to discover what was so unique about this place.

Sunday afternoon, as I sat on the bus to the the hospital to visit Fred, the phone rang. It seems the plane load of Mexicans that made up the class I was supposed to teach had decided to postpone their trip to Montreal. They would call me when and if the Mexicans in question decided to reschedule their trip. A couple days before, yet another restaurant that had interviewed me had called to offer me a job. It turned out, however, that they only had lunch shifts available now. Since I had secured this teaching job, I had turned it down.



Hearing what happened with the school, Fred's mom called her work. Her boss assured her that there would be a job for me at Brother. A week later, the manager of the customer service department called me to schedule an interview. Despite the extreme sense of condescension, all went well and she told me to expect a phone call from the HR department. A week and a half later, they called to schedule an interview. I bussed all the way out to the West Island to sit in a room with a very simple woman who felt the need to take advantage of her status as interviewer and insist that I tell her about a time when I did something I was not proud of. To my surprise, I was able to find just the right words to tell her it was none of her business, without actually saying that. They told me that I would start on June 18th. Then it was pushed to June 26th. Now the official start date is July 3rd. I've lost my patience with this company, and with the employment options available in Montreal. In no other city in Canada would a bilingual university graduate with teaching experience and a brain in her head have such trouble finding a job. I may have been idealistic at 19 when I threw myself into theater school, but I never imagined that even the customer service industry would want nothing to do with me. Either this is a sign that I'm not supposed to be in Montreal, or I'm being given a very clear indication that customer service is such a part of my past that it shouldn't even be a fall back... Just as my frustration had begun to give way to depression, my yoga studio called. They offered me a position as receptionist on Saturday mornings, in exchange for free yoga classes and towel service. Woohoo!! I may not be able to pay my rent, but at least I'll be relaxed about it.

After spending months trying to secure work in Montreal, my mind is beginning to wander. Thoughts of life in Toronto or Vancouver have begun creeping into my head. I love Montreal, but if being here means being unemployed, I've just about had it. I know that I haven't finished traveling, but I had always imagined Montreal as home. Now even that is being questioned...

A downpour in our backyard.

Free Hugs in Korea

Feeling that I had been slacking in recent days with my yoga practice, I arrived at the studio early on Friday to properly prepare myself for class. I lay my mat down in the center of the room, stretched out on my back and closed my eyes. I was sweating before the class even started, but was quite successfully focusing on my breathing. As the instructor walked into the room, I opened my eyes and stood up. I was shocked to find that the three people closest to me had laid their mats painfully close to mine. I was annoyed, but class was beginning so there was nothing I could do. The day before my mirror view had been blocked by some girl who seemed intent on always stretching just as high and deep as I did to ensure that I would have the worst possible view. Today, all was well during the hour long standing series, but the last half hour on the floor was a test to my patience. The girl to my right, sporting a black t-shirt with the message `It's all about me', which she seems to believe is ironic, though I suspect that the shirt was probably a gift from an ex-boyfriend with a real message. Over the next half hour, I learned that in fact, it was all about her. She nearly kicked me in the face at least four times during various stretches and I spent the rest of the class flicking, slapping and catching her feet as they came flying at my face. Buddy next to me must have recently broken up with his girlfriend (perhaps Miss Self-Centered?), because he seemed quite lonely. He was cuddled up so close to me that I couldn't properly stretch, and I had to continuously move his hands off my mat. Mr Shaved Head at my feet seemed to have a foot fetish, as he took every possible opportunity to fondle and play with them. I kept snapping my feet closed on his hands and kicking them away from me. By the end of class, I was worn out from defending my space and dealing with the 'Plateau People' (a special breed of Montrealer that attends McGill on their parents dime, lives in an overpriced apartment in what is sarcastically referred to as the ghetto).

There are a lot of things that piss me off on any given day. Part of the reason for starting yoga classes was to help me with this, but it can be very difficult to relax in a room with sixty sweaty, tired, cranky people believe it or not. All this to say, I came across this clip the other day, and it seems that Free Hugs is a recent sort of flash-mob, performance art thing that is happening all over the world. This particular video is shot in Hyehwa (the area where my play went up), Seoul. I thought it was beautiful, and no, it didn't piss me off.

PS- Yes, I know this video is there twice, but when your screen looks like this ?????????????????????, it's a little difficult to figure out how to change it. If you like, watch them both simultaneously and pretend that your computer does picture and picture. Or you can imagine that you're at Future Shop looking at all those TVs that play the same thing...

The End of Stability

I sit at a café on St-Catherine Street- coffee in hand, and watch those passing by the open door. A cool breeze wafts in, mellowing the overpowering stench of perfume that is overtaking my nostrils- assuring me that spring has once again arrived in Montreal. Skeptical Montrealers leave the house in winter jackets, with gloves and tuques- fearful the weather is trying to trick us once again. Hopefuls take to the city's terraces and convince themselves that outdoor beer is here to stay. The bike lanes are open, and rollerbladers far braver than I are taking to the streets to enjoy every moment of sun. The city's notorious pot hole problem/collapsing streets make rollerblading unthinkable for those of us with a brain in our heads.

I awoke this morning at 8:00am, having promised my grade six class that I would come and see their fashion show presentation. I took the bus over the mountain and looked forward to othe long walk from the bus stop to the school. The bus dropped me off at Parc Lafontaine and I made my way through the hoards of cyclists, rollerbladers and strollers till finally I reached the school. It was my last day at l'École St-Joseph. The teacher has returned from sick leave, leaving me to contemplate, once again, where I'm headed. At the moment, I am relishing in my return to unemployment. Montreal is the best city in Canada in which to be unemployed, and there is no better time than the summer.

As the last week in this teaching position drew to a close, I'm suffering from very mixed feelings- as I so often do. On the one hand, I quite like having money in the bank and not worrying about what magic tricks I'll need to pull off to pay all my bills. On the other hand, I fear that such stability is sending me in the exact opposite direction of where I would like to be. You have probably noticed that my posts have become few and far between since mid-February, for a few reasons. For one, working forty hours a week is quite exhausting and has killed any creative impulses I once had. Secondly, the reality of teaching in Canada seems to mean never seeing an end to the work on your desk. I'm not a fan. This may be the most I've ever made, but it isn't very good. I can't imagine what sort of insane person would spend another two years in school to obtain an education degree (that cannot be used outside of Quebec) to make 35,000$/year, with poor benefits and be considered, by the children and their parents, to be a glorified babysitter. I'm so glad that I had the opportunity to see the reality of the profession in Canada before I was tempted by the promise of summers off. Schools have changed. The older teachers predictably discuss each day the differences between my generation and this one in the classroom. They fear the coming of age of these students, many hoping they won't be around to see them children in their adult years.

This experience was invaluable. I realized that I am far too impatient with nonsense and excuses to teach children for a living. I just don't care enough. You didn't do your homework? Whatever, your loss, not mine. English is useless, you say? Okay, sure. You're off to a great start in life. Call me in ten years when you want to work in Toronto. In any case, all this chasing children around and pretending to care wore me out and distracted me from what I would rather be doing- writing and acting. Worse than distracting me, the experience drained me. When I was teaching in Korea, I was exhausted from listening so carefully to everything being said and trying to make sense of it. From reading very slowly aloud every message on the photocopier, hoping that eventually I would understand why it wasn't working. From bouncing kids on my knee and being poked in the eye with little fingers. Teaching here is exhausting because of the atrocious amount of work. It's never ending. And like I said, draining.

So I have the summer to contemplate. The Commision Scolaire de Montréal is still anxiously awaiting the scores from my French test so they can hire me on full time for next year. I've come to terms with the fact that my procrastination is based in fear and I'm going to register for an online refresher course in French grammar, which will do me good. My agent has been put on alert to find me some good work for this summer, and I'm awaiting the announcement of next season's auditions at the English theatres. I snapped last week after another health scare with Fred and bought myself my expensive, over-priced yoga pass. I decided if there was anything that could take my mind off the upcoming transplant for an hour and a half a day, it was well worth the money. Today will be day six of my Bikram routine and I'm loving it. I feel amazingly healthy and my winter tummy is quickly melting away- or should I say thankfully. I'm off to yoga class and promise to be more active in my posts. It would also help if my computer would stop trying to speak to me in Korean- which looks very little like Korean and a lot like this ?????????????????????????????????????????????. There's nothing more obnoxious than having every button and tab on a web page full of question marks. Hopefully the next post will also be more direct, as we say in theatre. I struggle with being shockingly indirect, for which I blame the ADD. But summer is the time for ADD and summer is very, very close. I plan on spending an obsene amount of time under a tree reading a book.

This was the biggest patch of grass I found last summer in Seoul... It was not a comfortable place to read a book.