It was a pretty busy day, and in almost no time at all I found myself separated from Rachelle and Jones. These are the texts from my wife that followed:

*****************************

Rachelle: Where are you?

Rachelle: The Bat Cave?! That sounds dramatic!!

Rachelle: Really? That’s weird!

Rachelle: I thought it would have something to do with Batman, too. Maybe a tribute to Adam West or something.

Rachelle: Adam West.

Rachelle: He just died.

Rachelle: He was the original Batman.

Rachelle: No, Michael Keaton was not the original batman.

Rachelle: Thought for sure you’d know that.

Rachelle: Well, because you’re seasoned.

Rachelle: That’s not an insult.

Rachelle: Seasoned things are delicious.

Rachelle: Like Ikea meatballs.

Rachelle: I still can’t believe you ate 19 of them that one day .

Rachelle: Yes, it was very impressive, very alpha male.

Rachelle: However, if you’d pushed through to 20 it would have been even more alpha, I think.

Rachelle: Just saying.

Rachelle: Where are we? How nice of you to ask!

Rachelle: We’re in the kid’s play area, right near the tepee.

Rachelle: I have discovered that medieval headgear is really heavy!

Rachelle: What have you learned in the bat cave besides the fact that Michael Keaton was not the original Batman?

Rachelle: And beside the fact that you’re old.

Rachelle: Bats eat mice like you eat meatballs.

Rachelle: Pickle, I am glad that you can still learn new things.

Rachelle: Sorry?

Rachelle: Why don’t you want Jones in the tepee?

Rachelle: Cultural appropriation?

Rachelle: No, I don’t hate my First Nation’s brothers and sisters.

Rachelle: The tepee was just a nice, quiet spot for Jones to sit and colour for a bit, that’s all.

Rachelle: I mean, it is expressly there for the kid’s to use!

Rachelle: You don’t know what the Great Spirit wanted! Perhaps that’s exactly what the Great Spirit wished for!

Rachelle: Lord, you have to spend less time on Twitter.

Rachelle: I swear, people should have to take a test before they get on that thing–like kids having to be a certain height before going on a ride.

Rachelle: I’m sorry Pickle, but you’re just too suggestible.

Rachelle: Last week you were insisting the Russians were cyborgs.

Rachelle: Regardless, it’s not a “cultural appropriation” tepee, but more of a “spirit guide” tepee.

Rachelle: I had a vision when I was in there.

Rachelle: Of Justin Trudeau.

Rachelle: He was dressed in his tepee denims and smelled of pine needles.

Rachelle: Shirt?

Rachelle: No, just the jean jacket.

Rachelle: Yes, unbuttoned.

Rachelle: I know. Yes, you and some other kids beat him up in grade school.

Rachelle: You know, that’s probably something you shouldn’t be so proud of.

Rachelle: No, you couldn’t.

Rachelle: No, you simply could not do a plank– no matter how much you trained or hard you tried.

Rachelle: It’s like the 20th meatball for you, a bridge you shall never cross.

Rachelle: Oh, no!

Rachelle: He didn’t speak at all, he just smiled at me, and when he did I knew that everything was going to be fine. Sunny ways everywhere!

Rachelle: Oh! I think I see you Pickle!

Rachelle: Do you see us?

Rachelle: Look! Jones has a dinosaur he wants to show you! He’s running to you now, our little sunny way is running right to you!

******************************

Rachelle: Pickle, I’m afraid we’re going to have to make some sacrifices in order to afford some help looking after Jones.

Rachelle: Well, I’ll be going back to work in the fall, and unless you think you can look after Jones on your own, we’re going to need somebody to help.

Rachelle: No.

Rachelle: No, I’m positive.

Rachelle: I can’t take Jones in to work with me.

Rachelle: For a million fucking reasons, okay?

Rachelle: Look, I’ve crunched some numbers and you’re going to have to get rid of your subscription to the Baseball Channel

and stop ordering lunch from Uber Eats each day.

Rachelle: Sigh.

Rachelle: I am not “busting your balls.”

Rachelle: Yes, you probably will starve.

Rachelle: It will be tragic, especially after all you’ve gone through, but at least there will be Jones to carry on.

Rachelle: I’ll make sure he knows of his father’s sacrifice, how you stopped watching baseball 8 hours a day and eating restaurant lunches so that you could afford to pay somebody else to look after him.

Rachelle: Look, I’m not harsh, just a truth teller. You knew that when you married me.

Rachelle: I don’t understand.

Rachelle: What’s a “side hustle?”

Rachelle: Oh, so it’s like a job, but it’s usually illegal, and you only do it when you want?

Rachelle: Why yes, that does sound like a perfect solution to our problems! What will your side hustle be?

Rachelle: Ikea Furniture Builder???

Rachelle: So, you would go to homes and personally assemble their furniture??

Rachelle: That is my favourite thing ever.

Rachelle: Yes, it’s even better than naming a ship Boaty McBoat Face.

Rachelle: So, just curious, how would you get to these homes?

Rachelle: Uber, of course.

Rachelle: Imagine, if you had a driver’s license you could actually be an Uber driver!

Rachelle: Yes, if you passed the security screening.

Rachelle: I know you have a “past,” ran with a tough crowd in junior high. It’s that edge I love, Pickle.

Rachelle: But let’s get back to your side hustle. Once you get to your “client,” how would you assemble the furniture?

Rachelle: Yes, I’m sure you would figure it out. Lots of evidence to support that.

Rachelle: You have a very good mind for all things mechanical.

Rachelle: You did a beautiful job on the crib, for instance.

Rachelle: Yes, it was as much a sculpture as anything else. As you say, Living Art.

Rachelle: But look, you could just get a job, a job could be your “side-hustle.”

Rachelle: You could work in a food court or maybe a discount shoe store.

Rachelle: The Bulk Barn, maybe? You might get a deal on nuts, that would be a bonus!

Rachelle: I don’t think Blockbuster exists anymore, dear.

Rachelle: I know those were good times for you at “The Block.”
Rachelle: Everybody came for the Pickle Picks, I know. You were practically a star!

Rachelle: Yes my love, times have changed.

It’s a complicated and unresolved situation at this point, but in short, Ghomeshi, a popular radio personality in Canada, was fired from his job because his BDSM sexual proclivities– and the serious allegations stemming from them– were brought to the attention of his employers who decided, upon careful reflection, that they could no longer work with him as he damaged the brand. It is more intricate and terrible than just that, of course, and crisis management teams, wounded parties and insane lawsuits are now a part of the sex storm, but one thing that has happened with absolute certainty is that I now know way more about BDSM and the laws governing it than I ever imagined I would.

As I am a very adventurous and sensual person, I have suggested to my wife that we experiment with some BDSM in our life and she readily agreed. This is the BDSM Journal that I have been keeping.

Day 1

Submissive role: Rachelle

Dominant role: Me

Me: I DON’T WANT TO WATCH NASHVILLE TONIGHT!!

Rachelle: Pickle, I don’t think you’re supposed to yell, I think it’s more a tone thing.

Me: Oh.

Rachelle: Don’t worry. This is new for both of us, just try again.

Me: Okay.

Me: (Clears throat and delivers line sounding like Clint Eastwood) I don’t want to watch that damn Nashville tonight.

Rachelle: No honey, you sound like an old man

Me: Is that good? Does it turn you on?

Rachelle: No, not really. Let’s just watch Nashville, okay?

Grade of experience: 6 out of 10

Day 2

Dominant role: Rachelle

Submissive role: Me

Rachelle: We’re going to Ikea today to find some storage solutions and maybe a runner for the dining room table!

Me: I’m not feeling well.

Rachelle: OBEY ME, SLAVE!!

Me: Coldplay! Coldplay! Coldplay!

Rachelle: Honey, that’s not the safe word.

Me: I forgot it. What is it?

Rachelle: I’m not allowed to tell you. GET IN THE CAR, WE’RE GOING TO IKEA, MAGGOT FACE!

Me: Cold sore! Cold sore! Cold sore!

Rachelle; No, slave, that’s not it either! Put on your leash and get in the car, I COMMAND THEE!!

Me: Are we taking the dog with us?

Rachelle: YES!!

Grade of experience: 0 out of 10

Day 3

Dominant role: Me

Submissive role: Rachelle

Me: Please pass me the salad!

Rachelle: Yes, master.

Grade of experience: 9 out of 10

Day 4

Sadistic role: Rachelle

Masochistic role: Me

Rachelle: I have made bulgur for dinner tonight! It is an excellent source of fiber! Eat it now, worm!!

Me: I have been feeling a little clogged up lately. I deserve to be punished, master.

Rachelle: (Takes my glass of wine away)

Me: Hey! What the fuck???

Rachelle: You are forbidden from having any more wine this week! You drink too much and it’s bad for you, my cockroach!

Me: Cold war! Cold war! Cold war!

Rachelle: Pitiful fool, you’re not even close with the safe word! Teaches you for not listening to your master, now eat your bulgur!!

Me: Is there any Sriracha, at least?

Rachelle: NO! YOU FORGOT TO PICK UP AT THE GROCERY STORY! NOW, SILENCE! (puts on the soundtrack to Dirty Dancing)

Grade of experience: 0 out of 10

SINUS INFECTION

Definitely won’t be going back anytime soon! I could not smell a thing for five weeks, my face hurt and my temples were so swollen that my wife started to call me Frankenstein. The green discharge from my nose was oddly fascinating, and the occasional day off work was nice, but it’s still not enough to earn a recommendation. In the end, my experience with a sinus infection was very disappointing. (Also, duration of visit WAY too long!!!)

OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER

**********The condition makes me feel VERY, VERY, VERY safe and VERY, VERY, VERY focused. I think I do some of my VERY, VERY, VERY best work in this state. The condition makes me feel VERY, VERY, VERY safe and VERY, VERY, VERY focused.**********

 Recommended.

Recommended.

Recommended.

INGUINAL HERNIA

It wasn’t the most painful experience of my life, but the weird, little bulge in my groin was a freak-out, and quite frankly I didn’t like thinking about the mechanics of it at all. I mean, my intestines were poking through my abdominal wall? That’s just gross, and it really doesn’t sound right. However, when I was having surgery done a nurse was required to shave my pubic area and she had to pick up and move my penis in order to do this. I’m not a freak or anything, but it was a real porn scenario and I have to admit to kind of hoping something was going to happen, so that was kind of thrilling.

Another up side of the hernia is that I was able to get out of doing TONS of stuff. As far as illnesses go, this one comes quite highly recommended, and depending on the doctor, you can get some excellent pain medications.

ANTHRAX

No walk in the park. STAY AWAY!!!

BURSITIS

Like the hernia, this is an excellent excuse condition. Although it sounds like it should really only effect old people, it’s something that athletes deal with the most, so it’s actually kind of cool—a “healthy sickness,” if you know what I mean. It can hurt like a bugger, but it usually doesn’t and the treatment is typically just rest, so if you want to get out of something (like walking around Ikea all Sunday) all you have to do is say that your chronic bursitis and your knee is just killing you. It’s kind of like having a handicap pass for your car.

TOURETTE’S SYNDROME

Not nearly as much fun as you might think—get something else.

A sprawling outpost on the edge of the city, the place has always reminded me of an airport. It’s insanely busy, there’s a multiplicity of languages and cultures streaming through the corridors, and the store, the things that they sell, are never truly what the consumer wants.Ikea is more of a way station, a place in your life where you pause, and finding an acceptable but temporary solution, move forward from who you are toward the glittering horizon of the person you’ll one day become, a person who will eventually be able to afford the sort of “adult” furniture you might one day pass down to your children. And so, when you find yourself at Ikea on a Sunday afternoon, you discover, in both a figurative and literal sense, that you are not where you want to be. Ikea, is not your beautiful house.

Perhaps as a result, most of the people there, like commuters, have a slightly dazed and unhappily obliged expression to their faces. However, one couple looked happy, like they were starring in their own movie and the rest of us were just extras there to lend contrast. Located somewhere in their beautiful twenties, they were animated, as if playing games in an amusement park or falling in love while ice skating.  Wearing a shiny, silver miniskirt that showed off a splashy array of tattoos, she was a platinum blonde with a kind of retro burlesque vibe, and he, well, he didn’t look quite as confident as he was dressed, but he was trying hard.

They were in Ikea as tourists, treating the place a bit like a museum where the exhibits weren’t the storage solutions and furnishings, but all the weary, humbled people shopping there. It was a cultural excursion for these two, an anthropological journey that was meant as symbol of the quirky, self-conscious lives they were trying to fashion for themselves. She, independent-minded and unpredictable, loved the carnival food on sale there, the secret passageways through the intricately designed shopping trails and the way that things were piled up like giant toys, and he was planning on getting a tattoo of the Ikea Monkey to commemorate the great day, both of them smiling secrets at one another, certain that they would never grow into the compromised, dream-beaten people they imagined blending into the background all around them.

It’s from 1937, and in reading it I was struck by how much it had in common with communist propaganda in its certainty and fealty to a cause. Possessed with a religious optimism, the corporate soldiers marched furiously into the future, ever forward, ever reaching.  Equilibrium is stasis, and if the corporation isn’t growing, it’s failing, and so almost by definition, the appetite is infinite.

Last week an eight-story building in Bangladesh collapsed killing at least 400 people (a number that may yet rise to 1,000), most of them low-paid (25-30 cents an hour) garment workers. It was the worst accident in the history of the garment industry.

One of the companies that were manufacturing clothes in the shoddily constructed building was Joe Fresh, a very successful and popular brand here in Canada. They’re inexpensive, yet their clothes still manage to exude the downtown hipster aesthetic. As my wife says, they’re like the Ikea of clothing, offering a gentle compromise for those belonging to a fashion conscious tribe but who really can’t afford extravagantly branded proofs of their tastes.

Joe Mimran, the head of Joe Fresh, explains on the company website that this “extreme pricing” is one of their premier selling points. I don’t think it’s being overly dogmatic to say that the real cost of “extreme pricing” are tragedies like the one in Bangladesh. People, abstracted by distance and circumstance, suffer immensely so that we can wear cheap, yet cool-looking, jeans.

In this particular case, it’s been reported the factories are policed by goons who threaten the employees, mostly young women, unless they work 13- or 14- hour shifts, often seven days a week. The building that collapsed apparently had deep cracks inside of it and the workers were actually scared to go in, but nonetheless, were driven in by men wielding clubs.

Can you imagine how it must feel to be terrorized and exploited like that?  I’m not sure that I can, and I take little comfort in the argument that western industry is building a middle-class in far away lands, and that workers like those who perished in Bangladesh are better off with low paying work than nothing at all. It doesn’t ring true to me, and it’s baldly self-serving. The corporations, and the systems that they function within, are clearly taking advantage of the workers, and this is clearly wrong, regardless of the benefit you might imagine blossoming from it. Think again, on the microscopic, empathetic level, of what it must be like to work in one of these cruel sweatshops.

Our lives of whimsy, comfort and petty complaint are built upon horrible deeds.  We need to remember that, and that we enable it each day with our entitled behaviour. We all know how we feel about the Boston Marathon Bombings, but do we really know how we feel about the Rana Plaza catastrophe?