I’ve been on television three times now, and I’m not very good at. After each performance, I’m certain that the news agency that called me up, will never ask me back. I get nervous on air. I stammer and blink, rocking back and forth in my chair like somebody who was raised in a damp basement. And whatever charming anecdote I had prepared on my way over, I immediately forget just as soon as the red light of the camera goes on, or worse, I mangle into some incoherent Paula Abdul-like rambling. It’s never pretty.
By far, the best part of the experience is the Lincoln Town Car they send to pick me up. I get so excited by this that I stand out in front of my apartment waiting for it. By doing so, I hope to attract the attention of neighbours and strangers alike, so that I can then happily tell them that I’m going to appear on TV to speak about an important matter of pop culture. I want them to know that I’m more than just that man they see through the window, the one in the housecoat with all the chocolate ice cream stains on it.
The Town Car pulled up in front of our apartment nearly 20 minutes early. My first impulse was to rush out the door and sit in the car, and like a kid at prom to hangout the skylight shouting at everybody who passed by, “I’m going to be on TV!!” But it struck me that this might not be so cool, and that the driver might be looking forward to 20 minutes of peace, when he could just sit there and collect his thoughts after a hectic day of trying to navigate through vicious city traffic.
The driver was named Horst, and he was from Poland. He was really big on opening the door for me, which made me kind of uncomfortable. I mean, I only want to be a big time movie star for the benefit of my neighbours. For the driver, I want to be a “man of the people,” and just as soon as he mentioned that we lived in a beautiful neighbourhood, I immediately told him that we were renters who couldn’t afford the area.
This led to a conversation about the economy, and we traded stories of misfortune, but Horst was no downer. He spoke of his mother, who immigrated to Canada from Europe just after the war. She took the train from Halifax to the prairies, and coming from a densely populated part of the world, was startled and alarmed to see all the wide-open, undeveloped space in Canada. She would stare out the window of her train car with days passing without her seeing a single human being. All she saw were cows, and she wondered what the hell she had gotten herself into, but she took solace in the fact that cows were all well fed, unlike the emaciated ones back home.