Humour

What, Me Worry and Drive?

What, Me Worry and Drive?


“The big pad is go, the little pad is stop.”

“No, the big pad is stop, the little pad is go.”

My foot hovered over the pedals. I only had to drive three kilometres to the car rental office so we could drop off the vehicle we rented for a weekend trip to Toronto, but it might as well have been 3000 kilometres. My partner, ever forbearing, reassured me that I was capable of piloting a car in light traffic. “You’ll be fine. Just remember – big pad stop, little pad go. And check your rear view and side mirrors now and then. I’ll be behind you in the van.”

It all seemed a bridge too far. It had been over a decade since I was behind the wheel of a car solo. I gripped the wheel to stop the trembling in my hands. I breathed deeply, like all the books and websites tell you to do when you’re having a panic attack. They also tell you to exhale, which I didn’t do until dizziness forced the air out of my lungs. Driving a vehicle is second nature for the inhabitants of the small Ontario municipality where we now live. Not for me. My partner and I live in the town core where groceries, the gym and the Via train station are less than a kilometre away. Why would I need to drive?

It was my late aunt, a flamboyant child-free widow who lived alone in a tidy split level in Mississauga, who berated me into taking driving lessons. She insisted that driving meant independence, especially from any man. She sprung for the lessons, so I felt obliged to follow through. My instructor at the driving school, renowned as the “blond Tom Cruise”, made stopping, left turns and yielding on Toronto streets a little less terrifying. My driving test, conducted by a young comedy fan, produced a pass, probably because I dropped the name Russell Peters. At age 35, with a Class G licence in my hands, I felt like I had achieved a milestone that I never thought possible or desirable. 

Before she died, my aunt had leased a Honda CR-V and demanded I drive when we went out for dinner. Sober for some time, I became her designated driver, which proved convenient as she adored merlot. One night, returning from an evening of a three course meal (and her five course imbibing), I white-knuckled it from Cambridge to Mississauga, keeping up with speeding 401 drivers unfazed by blinding sheets of rain. My aunt prattled on, oblivious to the torrential downpour we barrelled through. When we finally pulled into her driveway and after seeing her into her house, I lurched to the sidewalk and vomited. I was never happier to ride two buses and the subway to get home. 

As empowering as driving is, having weak vision in one eye has kept me on the sidelines. Amblyopia is the clinical term for it, much more distinguished than the colloquialism ‘lazy eye’. When I was a child I had to wear a patch over my good eye for awhile, during the summer months. My siblings played baseball and badminton at the cottage; I stumbled around on the grass negotiating divots and frogs. Do I use amblyopia as an excuse for being a perennial passenger? Yes. I have a driver’s licence, am able to drive, but lacking reliable depth perception undermines my confidence. I laugh when I’m parallel parking. 

Primarily, I blame not driving all these years on the Toronto Transit Commission. Blaming the TTC for everything that’s wrong in the world is TO lifeblood. The Leafs lost again? Blame the TTC. That job interview went sideways? Blame the TTC. I haven’t paid my taxes in five years? Well, you get it. The TTC is the scapegoat for all societal ills. But it also, in its own inefficient, lumbering way, transports hundreds of thousands of people daily to their destinations. People rely on the TTC, much like some children must rely on emotionally unavailable parents. TTC riders are stoic and tough, have to be. It’s either that or shell out tens of thousands of dollars to have your own car and the privilege of being stuck in gridlock. So it’s the TTC’s fault that I never chose to drive in the city and opted for the thrilling gamble of public transit. 

To top it off, I used to cycle to a job at Queen’s Park. On Bloor Street. In the bike lane. Now that’d make me public enemy number one.

Why would I need to drive? 

I slowly merged into the left lane and flicked on the turn signal. Pickup trucks, SUVs and sedans whizzed by in the opposite lane. I pulled into the lot, my spouse following in the van. I had driven the little rental car to the office all by myself, had helmed over two tonnes of machinery without veering into a ditch. I had faced my fear. It felt good.

Good enough to purchase my own car and take day trips into Ottawa, Montreal or Toronto by myself? 

Did I mention that Via is only a few blocks away? 

A Literary Harvest: Canadian Writing About Wine and Other Libations

You can find an excerpt from Please Stand By in the new anthology A Literary Harvest: Canadian Writing About Wine and Other Libations.

Spoiler alert. It doesn’t go well for Suzanne.

Thank you/Merci

From the Archives: A Stress-Free Way To Pay Bills And Get Instant Cash!

In my meandering (I call it meandering, some call it procrastination) through the overlord Google, I came across my old blog on the supreme entity Google’s blogspot. While I continue plodding away on a short story that is causing me to question everything I thought I was, please enjoy this timeless entry. Note the 2012 date. Yours, cb

Friday, November 23, 2012

A Stress-Free Way To Pay Bills And Get Instant Cash!

I still anticipate the arrival of daily mail. Not the electronic kind, but the kind where a guy in uniform walks up to your house and drops letters off in a thing called a mailbox. Some mailboxes are attached to the exterior of a house, some houses have slots in their doors for letters to be inserted, and in apartment buildings, residents have little individual mail slots or boxes where they collect mail. Mail. Coming home to mail. Maybe a postcard from a friend vacationing in the Swiss Alps, or a card acknowledging a milestone or a holiday.  Mail. From Canada Post!

Ah, the romance.

Today I received this gem from my credit union.

Dear Carolyn,

Imagine you have $511.28 in your chequing account.

Now imagine writing a cheque for $1000 … $1500 … or even $5000 without any concern that it will “bounce”. This is the straightforward, honest benefit of having an Advantage Line Of Credit.

By using your Advantage Line Of Credit, you increase the balance in your chequing account so you can pay unexpected bills …cover vacation expenses …or other occasional blips in your cash flow … (I stopped reading after this).

Now, I could be wrong, and please correct me if I am, but isn't this sort of marketing and/or economic policy what created the U.S. government calls the “fiscal cliff”. But – how could it be? The benefit of having an Advantage Line Of Credit is straightforward and honest!

I mean, like, hey, I gotta go to Aruba. That’s an occasional blip in my lifestyle.  Fer sure. But my cash flow is trickling. It might be an infection, I dunno. Hey - I’ll write a cheque for $5000 – that should take care of the yuck, like, ya.

Fiscal Cliff: Hey, cheque! I wanna see you bounce! Toss yourself off me!

Cheque: But I can’t bounce. It says so in the direct mail campaign.

Fiscal Cliff: I don’t believe it. Show me! First rule of storytelling – show, don’t tell!

Cheque: Okay, Cliff. Watch me soar muthafecker!

SFX: Weeping and gnashing of teeth.

THIS AD BROUGHT TO YOU BY 

FRIENDLY GUYS BANKRUPTCY TRUSTEES

FRIENDLY GUYS: MAKING IT ALL GO AWAY

And people ask me why I get headaches.

Whoever conceived, wrote and approved the copy for the Advantage Line Of Credit should be forced to take out an Advantage Line Of Credit, rack it up without any enjoyment, and suffer the torment of financial insecurity. And when they cried for mercy, all they’d hear is a ‘blip’ sound.

It’s stuff like this that’s causing the middle class to collapse.

Me, I’m still waiting for a postcard from the Swiss Alps.

Memoir Writing With Carolyn Bennett Writer/Comic

Have you ever wanted to tell your story? CB is holding online workshops to help you discover and give literary shape to your own experience. A hefty dose of humour is encouraged. Eight weeks, eight participants, eight ways to say I love me! Have fun in a safe and inclusive space and explore your creativity and personal narrative. Contact Back Lane Studios for more information on upcoming workshops. Sponsored by the Government of Canada’s New Horizons for Seniors Program.

How to Promote Your Debut Novel Without Money, Social Media, or a Publicist

My debut novel Please Stand By has been on the shelves for a month and a half now. In that time, I am delighted to say that over 200 books have been sold. Some of you might be thinking “that’s pathetic”. Yes, I know Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments sold over a hundred times that amount, but that’s only because she is an enormous success. I would be embarrassed to be that talented.

You may wonder how I’ve managed to sell over 200 books without any publicity. What follows are my ten tips for promoting your debut novel without money, social media posting, or a publicist:

1. Come From a Big Family: My extended family is big, with the mouths to match it. Thank god for catholic guilt. My siblings and their friends have probably snapped up 50% of the books.

2. Cry In Front of Your Audience at Readings: First of all, give readings. Then make sure you cry in front of your audience. Mention having a mysterious illness, or that you are being renovicted.

3. Have Giveaways: This is recommended on Goodreads. Everybody wants something for free. Give some books away. Hand them out at busy street corners, at the laundromat, on the subway. Go table to table in restaurants – compete with the rose sellers.

4. Get on Television: Everyone focuses on social media, but don’t discount good old fashioned television. Stand behind a reporter and wave your book at the camera. Car crashes and murder scenes attract more eyeballs, so get a radio scanner and find a police channel relaying the latest tragedy near you.

5. Be in a Car Crash, or Involved in a Murder: A little extreme, but how far are you willing to go for readers?

6. Go on Tour: There is no need to only do readings in your home town. Hit the road. Cheap means of transportation include boxcars, airplane engines, and bus roofs.

7. Run Naked Through the Streets: A classic attention grabber. Grabber? That’s what he said! ... and promptly got arrested for.

8: Network: This is standard advice, but raise it up a notch. Go to conferences – any conferences. Dental associations, gemmological conventions, toy train shows – those in particular are known for their lonely men. These fellows are likely to buy anything from a woman who pays attention to them.

9: Get Your Book Reviewed: This can be tough, but not impossible. It helps if you have a common name, like Carolyn Bennett, James Patterson, or Stephen King. Blackmail book columnists. Tell them you have compromising photos of them the public may want to see.

And finally:

10: Write something offensive: It has to be offensive enough to attract the attention of all the political spectrum, but not so offensive that it’s delegated to the nutter bin. Lean toward outrageous, rather than putrefying.

Good luck!