You Had Me at Hello

I have never understood why anyone would hypothetically choose invisibility for a superpower. In my books, invisibility does not qualify as a superpower because of the lame factor involved. Sure you could overhear conversations, or go just about anywhere you wanted, but you don’t necessarily have to be invisible to do these things. While going unnoticed may be tricky, stealth is the valuable skill involved not translucency.

Besides that, if you were invisible you’d feel weird. It would be like when you wave at someone you think is waving at you, only to find out that when you look carefully they’re waving at someone behind you. See - you’d feel dumb.

You have to trust me on this one because I have endured an awkward experience in which I was invisible. It occurred at my old part-time job when my manager asked if I would be the greeter at the front of the store.

“All you have to do is say hello to every person who walks in that door, do you understand?”

“Yeah, got it, thanks.”

Let me assure you, even though this job seems relatively harmless - heck you may even consider yourself a fairly friendly/approachable person - this is one of the weirdest jobs you can agree to do. If a troupe of reality television stars asked you to live for a week with them, do so and endure unfounded egos the size of Mars rather than be a greeter. Eat live lobsters or listen to James Blunt on repeat, just avoid being the greeter. Okay I may be exaggerating for effect here, but consider the following:

Unsuspecting, I went to the entrance of the store and stood waiting awkwardly. When the automatic doors opened to reveal an old man I immediately stood up straight and said, “hello there sir!” a bit too enthusiastically for 9am. Nothing would have been terribly wrong with this statement if the man had not been about 12 feet away and shuffling at a snail’s pace to where I stood.

While he made his way over and I aged 4 years I asked, “How are you today sir?”

“Toilets,” he grunted.

“Oh right, uhhh, those are at the other end of the store, all the way at the other side.”

“How much do they cost?”

“Pretty sure we’ll let you use them for free sir!” I laughed

“No not to use, to buy!”

“Ohhh I’m sorry, those are just toward the back, straight down that isle,” I pointed and felt adequately embarrassed.

He rolled his eyes and started shuffling away from me just as an elderly woman approached holding the hand of a young girl.

“Where are the shopping carts shaped like race cars? I’ve been walking around forever looking for one of those things”

“I think you can find those just outside the front...not sure how many there are though, they may all be taken”

“pshhht,” she said, and I experienced the second eye-roll of the morning while she waddled away toddler in toe.

During the next few minutes I imagined the little girl pushing the old lady in a shopping cart into the side of a parked car at full speed.

The automatic doors were flooded with people at around 9:20am and I said hello around 15 times and felt like a bobble head nodding and smiling like a goon. This is when you start feeling invisible. People walk by and do one, or a combo, of the following things. They glance at you sideways and glare, they laugh, they stare straight ahead, or they glance at you and then look up at a spot on the ceiling to avoid having to reply in any way. In other words, they feel as awkward as you do.

There are exceptions who may mock your enthusiasm, stare you down, or look scared to death, but my favourites are the ones that can’t stop checking themselves out in the television monitor above as they strut in. Overall, you just feel like a class-A moron saying hi to people who are making clear effort to get their fifteen seconds of fame on a security video.

The last family to walk through the doors passed me as I said “good morning” and the wife smiled and nodded while the family was led toward the light bulbs. Just as I thought the stampede was over I heard someone ask aggressively, “did she say hello to you?”

The man with an entire Nascar themed outfit turned around and asked, “Aren’t you the greeter?”

“Uhh, ye–“

“Well you didn’t say hello”

I thought he was joking (seriously – who does this?) so I smiled and laughed a bit.

“You think this is funny? What do you get paid to do, just stand here?”

I had just started to think about complimenting his Nascar travel mug when his wife insisted with a “z-snap”-like gesture, “Craig, she said hey okay! What is the issue?”
“oh, she did?...oh okay,” and Craig turned around and walked away leaving me to stand and await another surprise attack. Thanks guy.

It wasn’t long before the old cranky was back. This time she had the little girl sitting in the front of the race car cart. She rolled toward me and got right up in my personal space.

“I see you found a race car! Lucky you’ve got a great little driver!” I said as though I was auditioning to be world’s spunkiest student.

In her smoker’s voice she grumbled, “are you kidding? there isn’t a steering wheel on this one and I had to wipe it down myself because it was soaked outside! UGH!” while she rolled away in a coughing fit.

I wanted to say in the most condescending tone known to man, “you know, those steering wheels are just pretend...they don’t ACTUALLY steer the cart right?” but instead i mumbled, “yeah life’s rough.”

Ten o’ clock finally arrived and some poor soul with an unknowing grin came to assume my post and while walking away I noticed that when saying hello to people when in another part of the store, people always say hello back. Why is it then that the greeter is treated like they are holding anthrax?

That fateful day taught me a lesson; I learned that if granted a superpower I would perhaps chose teleportation. This power would zap an individual away from any awkward situation and place them in their destination of choice. I for one would use this power to avoid certain interactions at all costs. Although, on second thought, concussion beams or telekinesis would also be useful abilities.

Ain't No Party like an S-Club Party

As you grow up there is an implied rationality you must adopt to function normally; no jumping on couches, no tantrums, and no odd costumes at work. Although celebrities can get away with these things (Cruise, kanye, and Bejork), the average individual has to leave childhood behind.

We may not be children anymore, but the amygdala (the part of the brain connected with fear and emotional response) technically never develops or changes. This is why, even though we are older and (arguably) wiser, we are still susceptible to acting like children in situations where emotions run high.

As exams approach each term I go through a nostalgic phase. Although I should be cramming and stressed out like most other students, I only have to hear the words “Mighty Morphing Power Rangers” and childhood comes flooding back. I de-stress by imagining how great it would be to have a reading week where instead of a vacation, I could have a week of classic YTV programming, Skip-It at recess, Pogs, Goosebump books, Backstreet Boys, and Happy Meals.

Growing up in the 90’s was glorious. For instance, the single greatest day of the summer when I was 7 was when I got the Spice Girls Cassette for my Walkman. Singing “Wannabe” at the top of your lungs while rollerblading until the sun went down - those were the days.

Needless to say, television was a big part of life for any child of the 90’s because it provided expectations for the future. For instance, I imagined I’d have a teacher just like Mr. Feeny when I got to high school. All my future best friends and I would hang out at the Sugar Bowl from Arthur and we’d sip Chug-O-Freezes and go on crazy impossible field trips with an Arnold dude no one liked much. We'd also finally discover the true identity of Ghost Writer and where Carmen Sandiego was hiding.

My brother and I would imitate the Sailor Scouts and Tuxedo Mask, we would watch Miss Frizzle get stuck in cakes and teach about bats, and we would fight so much during the commercials for Power Rangers that eventually my mum had to shut that one down (turns out I’d make a fine pink ranger...sorry, Gary).

If we weren’t watching television, we were outside riding our bikes or replicating what we saw on TV. My favourite enactments were when we’d rearrange clothes, furniture, and household items on the floor and when asked, “what the heck is this?” we’d enthusiastically reply (in English accents no less) “THIS IS AN ART ATTACK!” To our parents’ dismay, any time was craft time and we were always looking for “loo roll and PVA glue” as I suspect many other 90’s kids were simply because Neil convinced all of us that we were born to create sticky messes worthy of the Louvre.

Overall, the 90’s was a time when pizza was still a thing at McDonalds. A time when I would choose a Barbie for my Happy Meal while the rest of my cousins chose Hot Wheels with which to run over McBarbie. It was a time of Dr. Lipschitz and Reptor on Ice. A time when grocery store visits were packed with questions like, “can I PLEASE have gushers, dunkaroos, and a Lunchable JUST THIS ONE TIME?!” (always no for the record, although I did manage a yes on Fruit Roll Ups one time...one sweet, sweet time).

Alas, childhood technically came to an end a while ago and there are few times when you can truly get it back. I find I come closest to it when the spring comes around and all you want to do is play outside. Even though trying to get your childhood back is about as practical as the name Topenga, I do hope that every once in a while you take a break from studying and think of the days when wearing your Northern Getaway sweatshirt with kittens and popsicles on it was totally rad.

Happy Eas...whoa what is that!?

Most people have a novelty childhood photo with a mascot and these photos are never very good, but in retrospect very hilarious. Be it a photo with the Santa at the mall or (in my case) Tommy Pickles at Canada's Wonderland, it is inevitable that the kid's face in the photo is expressing complete horror at having to sit beside something so large and ultimately, terrifying.

Well, this week the front page of my local paper featured the following picture of the Easter Bunny with some hyperventilating children whose expressions said "please don't eat us!"


While I can't publish these kids' faces, I'm sure this picture tells you all you need to know. I mean, for real? All I could think while looking at the paper was, "why would you expect anybody to be pleased about taking a photo with this...thing?"

Needless to say, this Easter season resulted in some hardcore childhood phobias. I'm sure someone on a committee somewhere suggested a petting zoo or baby chicks for kids to play with, but no - let's get a fuzzy psycho suit instead. Kids love that stuff.
Happy Easter folks!