So, the week past, the restaurant (old) sold, and then not sold, and then sold, and then not.
I trust no one.
I meet the owner, Jack, of the Superette, he's swearing the restaurant sold. I have other information. We disagree.
This morning I run into him again, I was right, word on the street is that they're due to open in a couple of weeks.
Other news from the same family, their son, JR, the one that has a wife, 4 kids and lives in his mom's house, the one I worked with - 6 years of his management stylings, has decided to run for Liberal MP in the Kootenay-Columbia-Southern Rockies riding.
His mom is boosting him on Facebook, they're hoping to ride the coat-tails of Carny's popularity.
Now, if you've followed this blog any length of time you probably know my feelings about JR. The fact that he lives at home with his Mother, Wife and 4 Children would be a start. The fact that last summer he blew off working at a restaurant - the same restaurant that pays his salary, the restaurant that pays him $50, $60 dollars an hour to not show up, not manage, and when he did show up stood to make upwards of $400, $500 a day in tips (on top of his salary) - to be "on call" to stock shelves at a liquor store, well, that tells you all you need to know. The fact that he's still a rooting-tooting Elon Musk Fanboy should be warning enough.
Ambitious? Well, after a fashion, as long as it doesn't require he do any work. But he's "by default" the candidate the Liberals chose, unopposed, well, this is ridiculous. In a riding of just over 100, 000 people there are no less than 90, 000 people more qualified than he is. I'm offended, not just because I think Carny is the best choice for PM and really wanted to vote Liberal, but at the fact that the nepotism that saw him selected as Candidate represents the same level of qualifications and competence we're seeing south of the border.
I'm so spitting mad that I actually wrote a letter to the Liberal Party last weekend condemning their choice, no reply as of yet.
***
The son comes to visit for a couple of days, his new van kitted out for survival in the wilderness, the tree-planting season, his "Shagging Wagon" as I'd call it, only it needs a more glorious paint job...
He's filled it with boxes from the storage locker, a couple dozen, and my place, already cozy and untidy has come once again to resemble a home, "my home",...the broken-down boxes, filled with collections like my broken trumpet & trombone collection, my broken clock collection, "Mixed Media" as I'd call it, more neckties, broken watches, rocks (more rocks!!), dinosaur bones, etc, stuff that I have to deal with, soon, as there will be an annual inspection shortly and I'm in no ways prepared.
I marvel at the contents of the boxes, every "unboxing" reveals a trove of smashed and broken-down treasures, projects that will occupy my retirement long past the sunset years... unpacking these and sorting the contents will take a couple of weeks, for the moment I'm basking in the glorious chaos of what is feeling like home, like indulging in the luxury of an extra-rancid fart in an unventilated space, the man-turned-inside-out, although I'm committed, a box or two per day and I'll be on top of this in a week, much of it bound for the trash, I got this...
And, for the moment this is it...