I was now 19 years old, got kicked out of University, no Job, drinking as often as possible and no idea where to look or how to live. It felt like everyone else from High School had gotten a "How to Live Life 101" manual and I received a "How to Shower a Salsa Type Diarrhea Mass on One's Own Head 101" manual. So, I just sat in the moist liquidy diarrhea for a while, marinating in the brown raw juiciness of it, and using it as a facial cleanser, only to be pressured by my parents to get a job. Sigh, gargle, vomit, spit... a job, "I hate to work", but I knew most people weren't crazy about the idea of working, so I complied and started to apply for random jobs.
Mom told me that a friend of hers at "Peter's Meat Market" was hiring and that my resume was sure to be looked at if I threw it in. The day I dropped it off the manager took one look at me and said she was interested, they must have been desperate.
It took a while before they called me, so I made sure to express my keenness by calling them a couple times, which, at least to my knowledge, helped speed up the process a wee bit.
The interview was a basic conversation, nothing too daunting. They just asked what I was looking for and when I was available. The owner was a short, interesting looking fellow, he sort of reminded me of a hobbit; "Bilbo you short furry footed flamingo, give me the job!".
Both his daughters as well as his wife also worked at the establishment, and they were both absolutely precious, just straight up kind people.
Along with the owners being fabulous individuals, the manager was also a kind woman in her own way. She was no ordinary woman though; she had a toughness and a work ethic only comparable to Greek Goddesses.
First day on the job it was evident that at Peters Meat Market they worked their noses off (Michael Jackson worked there several years ago). There was never a moment of pause; unless you were a smoker, then you could have several intermittent smoke breaks out back where Transport trucks came to drop off the next load of fish or meat or whatever. I considered taking up smoking for the extra breaks, but soon figured it wasn't a smart financial move.
During my own breaks I would often walk upstairs to the staff room and eat a cookie or a cinnamon roll. There was a bakery next door that sold the most delicious gargantuan cookies.
If it was lunch break, I'd walk upstairs to the stale, warm, stuffy break-room with cookie in hand and a tired body in stride, ready to slump over the grey plastic table that was shoved into the back corner. I'd occasionally "accidentally" fall asleep and wake up in my own drool and sweat only to break into a full-on panic after looking at the clock and realizing I was supposed to be back on the job thirty minutes ago. I'd race downstairs in a flurry of trepidation and fright, where I'd immediately plunge into action, laboring like Paul Bunyon the legendary Lumberjack. The manager wasn't stupid, she knew what had happened, but she usually didn't kick up too much of a stink.
It was an average Wednesday at the juicy meat market and a load of lobsters came rolling in; it was my job to take them out of the bins and place them in their respective tanks based on size. I was feeling pretty silly, so I reached down into one of the bins, picked one out and obnoxiously stuck it in the meat cutter's face. I made a sound similar to one a person might make if they were calling over a dog, just trying to be funny. Well, circumstances took a turn for the worst when the lobsters left "feeler" poked the meat cutter directly in the eye. He made a gasping, grunting noise and then impulsively decided to haul off and kick me right in the shin with his steel toed boots. Afterwards, I just said "what the fuck" and turned around to continue my duty.
Turns out that the meat cutter had to go to the hospital over the weekend due to an eye infection. Ugh. I felt like an idiot. Apologies were exchanged on Monday, but as time went on it dawned on me how much of that scenario was my fault. No more lobster poking...Ew, I just pictured some obscure man having intercourse with a lobster; as they make beautiful love together a brand new sexual position spawns out of this graceful union, known as "lobster style".
I worked at Peter's for about a year or so. It was exhausting work. There were days when I'd come home after a ten-hour shift and fall face first in bed, only to wake up twelve hours later and bike down to the smelly meat market once again.
While riding my bike on my way to work in the frigid cold of winter I began pondering all of the weirdness I'd showcased at Peters during the previous eight months; there were days where I'd pretend to shit out a full-sized salmon, the "vegetable guy" and I would make turkey noises back and forth, while customers looked on with horror and confusion. Sometimes I'd walk out to serve a customer with a brown bag on my head with two holes cut out of it so I could see, I'd stare at the customer awkwardly and change my voice to a high pitched wine, which would often set me over the edge of hilarity. The owners thought these antics were funny, so they allowed me to continue this outrageous behavior.
There were a lot of good memories made at the meat market. They started calling me Mr. Clean after a while because when there wasn't much to do, I'd always find something to clean.
The owner walked by me around lunch time one day when I was cleaning around the weight scale and said "stop fucking the dog and go on break". I stared at him with a stunned look and then proceeded to do as he asked and impaled my mouth with a massively obese cinnamon roll.
When I put in my two weeks' notice I made cards for many of the employees there, just expressing my fondness for them and letting each person know what I admired about their character. The only reason I can remember writing the cards was because a gentleman who I used to work with at Peter's added me to Facebook, and he told me how much the card meant to him. He messaged me ten years after I worked there. It's amazing...we never really know how much of an impact a simple "hello" can be or the act of taking the time to tell someone how we truly feel about them (unless you think they are similar to a piece of toe jam on the big friendly giants foot).
I left Peter's having built many good relationships, while acquiring some industrious habits that served me well in the future. It was an experience I will always remember with fondness and nostalgia.
—Introspection—
Ego can drive me to isolate. I will compare and compete with others, become paranoid of what certain people think of me, my energy will become restricted and little nibbles that would otherwise slide right off of me will transform into huge bites. I'll slowly allow healthy habits to deteriorate until once again I'm alone with an unchecked, undisciplined anti-social disposition. My amygdala (key factor in the brain responsible for processing emotions) goes awry and the quick-sand of mental illness will begin to dominate.
I've separated myself from any human interaction, from any exchange of energy with another that has been proven to be my miracle medication. The body becomes stagnant and lazy. Old ruts are strengthened and suicidal ideation becomes paramount. I allow self-centeredness to tell me that I cannot reach out because others do not care. Malignant whispers inevitably turn into screams. "No one reaches out to me, why do I always have to be the one to reach out?" "I'm a loser and just a burden to my family, I'll never change", "people would be better off without me", "I just take, take, take, take". All of these thoughts are lies, but when I allow negativity and exhaustion to bring me down that road these thoughts seem like the only truth.
When I pull myself out of isolation it occurs to me that the only person who needs to change is Ben Ganong (That's me by the way) and if life is going to get any better, I have to be the person who takes ACTION. Pick up the phone when someone calls, take initiative and ask friends and family how they are doing?, do little acts of kindness, move my body, and do that particular endeavor that I'm avoiding.
I must enact discipline through doing that which is uncomfortable, obliterate perfectionistic idealism, do my best and be proud of that, don't let little set-backs restrict me from doing the next right thing. The power is within me. I'm not going to allow myself to get in the way anymore. 😉
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When my time at Peter's Meat Market came to a close, I moved right into another Job. I started working at "The Boys and girls Club of Fredericton" (FBGC). I'd work the after-school program during the academic year and then during the summer I'd work full-time, I'd organize and lead the group of kids I was responsible for through different games and activities.
The location of the FBGC was conveniently located just down the street from my Dad's place in Devon. Yep, I lived right down the street, so getting to work was never an issue.
The first day on the job was racked with unsettled nerves and unreasonable expectations. The building I walked into on that first day was completely constructed out of large concrete bricks, there wasn't a single window in the place. Probably for good reason, the building was within a large park called "Henry Park" and directly beside an Elementary School. After dark those who occupied the area weren't always the most reputable characters. If there were windows in the place they wouldn't have lasted very long. It was strange working in such a concealed work environment, almost seemed unnatural.
When School was out for the Summer and the FBGC became a summer camp, we as "Camp Counsellors" had to make sure the playground was safe before the kids arrived. It was an early July morning when I had to call the police and have them come and remove a homeless dude from the red-plastic-play-tunnel that sat in the middle of the playground. He had put a towel over each end of the tunnel and was still asleep when I arrived that morning at 7:15am.
Broken bottles and contraband were a common sight and usually pretty easy to clean up. However; I do remember the morning when my boss told me to clean up a human shit underneath one of the play structures. Some buffoon had dropped his drawers sometime in the overnight and let out a huge greasy crap underneath the jungle gym. Took me a while to sanitize and clean up the foulness. What a wonderful gift to leave our youth to find the following day, a slimy grimy shit. My skin felt like it was crawling for the rest of the day.
My God it was exhausting work at the FBGC; invaluable and rewarding, but exhausting. In the summer you certainly would never forget your own name. The kids would repeatedly say your name over and over again for eight hours straight. It was especially annoying if you offered a child a push on the swing; then it was all out chaos, because then you basically signed up to push every child on the entire playground. "Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben". "WHAT!???" "Push me, Push me, Push me". "I'll be there in a second". And the tape rolled on.
When I'd close my eyes and enter into dream land at night I'd often dream about being at the Boys and Girls Club and the kids would be calling my name incessantly, I'd wake up with a jerk and walk down the road again for another round of insanity, but I did love it; well...most of the time.
Each week a different group in the FBGC; usually based on age, would get together and create a team chant. I'm not bragging (Yes, I am) but our chants were pretty much other worldly. We'd choose a name based on group popularity and I'd usually come up with some borderline inappropriate chant for us to regurgitate at the end of the week. Of course, the kids did the chanting.
To give you an example of what a group name would be I'm going to lay it on you. Group Name : "The Reeking Bum". Chant: "Um, Um, we are The Reeking Bum... Um, Um, we are The Reeking Bum... if you're thinking, it might be stinking, you better run, cause we're The Reeking Bum!". Yes, I agree, the chant was epic indeed. The other Group tried to steal our chant that week because they couldn't beat our prowess and prestige. It actually made me mad because I worked hard on that masterpiece. However; I have since done some breathing exercises and am feeling much better.
I worked at the FBGC for five years and thoroughly enjoyed every one of them. The people I met and the children's lives that I touched will forever be a part of me. My co-workers were "usually" (internal chuckle) unreal, and my bosses were "usually" unreal as well (another less enthusiastic chuckle). However; during my second summer of employment at the FBGC we had a new Program Manager. She came in guns blazing; well not really, more passive aggressive, she seemed disingenuous and out to get you. It was always about under tones with her. She'd say something, but there always seemed to be a lick of judgmental superego underneath. The negativity spread like a poison throughout the place and gossip began to run ramped. A couple of employees left because of stress, and the light that was in me was beginning to go out. Someone needed to talk to her about the collective unease at the Club. So, I decided to step up to the plate.
We both sat down in her office and had a conversation. I just expressed the power of a cohesive, positive team that had each-others backs and elaborated on how mangled I felt our team had become. She didn't respond with anger as I thought she might. She responded with tears and defensiveness. To her credit she did try to turn things around, and I can only imagine what kind of strength it took to do that. Eventually, she took stress-leave and then ultimately gave up her position.
Introspection
We cannot underestimate the potential ignorance of our own point of view on occasion. We see the world through our own eyes and what ensues is a filtration process of evaluation. Our experiences, insecurities, our genetics and fears, wants and coping strategies all become entangled in one another to help create our outlook on life, and to formulate our judgment of a person and/or a situation. That is why talking to a few trusted friends and practicing humility can be such a valuable tool. Therein lies true unadulterated judgement based on a collective discussion about the best possible outcome for any given scenario, rather than a decision diluted with subtle manipulation and self-righteous indignation. Stepping away for a bit to take a breather from a heated discussion or e-mail amongst other things is an invaluable practice because it allows the rational brain to interject and dispute potentially irrational responses to combative stimuli. As hard as it is my friend... take time, sit on it. In the "big picture" of how life unfolds, is this really worth it? And maybe it is, maybe it isn't, these decisions are not always simple, or straightforward, and the right decision is rarely easy, but after all, easy doesn't seem to enter into adult life.