I landed in Toronto with the Medic. He had a two rooms. One had his bed, the other a couch. I lived on the couch. He had a hotplate and a bar fridge. There was a washroom down the hall.
The shower featured fantastic feats of feces art. To this day, I simply cannot come up with a reason that a turd could and would leave a swooping track on a wall inches from the ceiling.
Improbable poo aside, I do believe this to be the best image to set the tone of my early days in the big stink. I lied my way into a table waiting job. It turns out that the manager - Jordan (JORDO!) - knew that I lied my way in. He told me so during the interview. He didn’t care. He just needed someone carry beer and clean ashtrays. This should have raised some alarm bells about the nature of the place, but growing up, jobs were few and hard to come by. I was grateful for the opportunity.
It turns out that the place had a difficult time retaining staff.
It was a sports bar with off track betting. SPORTZMAX! was, …
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