3 Truths + 1 lie - Part 2

Those bunnies didn't stand a chance. RIP.

Three truths and a lie. CONTINUED.

1. I once appeared on a Canadian game show and lost the top prize because I couldn’t remember Rupert Grint’s name.

2. I worked as a weed wacker for two summers while I was in university and wacked up dog 💩 in my face (and mouth) more than once.

3. I met Dwayne the Rock Johnson.

4. I almost died being crushed to death by a rush of screaming teenage girls at a Ricky Martin CD signing in Paris.

I’ll wait.

*********

2. TRUTH

How I ended up operating heavy duty lawn machinery for two summers remains a mystery to me.

It’s no wonder why my friend, Rob, when he spotted me one morning diligently weed wacking a ditch in our hometown — he laughed. And then he laughed as he was telling me about how he laughed at me.

I mean, if you know me, the image of seeing me wearing an orange reflective shirt, steel-toe boots, and too-big-for-my-face safety glasses, trying to manuever a large piece of equipment of any kind is akin to George Clooney’s Batman batsuit with nipples. Both amusing and horrifying to witness because it’s awkward and embarrassing and just doesn’t look right.

I could not have looked any cooler

I like nice clothes. I like being clean and coiffed. And the biggest machine I had wrangled at the time was probably my family’s Compaq Presario computer.

But there I was weed wacking for two humid Ontario summers from the age of 20 to 21 when I returned home on break from my studies at NYU. I would travel in a large truck with a crew of three to four other university students and we would tackle the mangled and overgrown fields, ditches, cemeteries, playgrounds around our town.

My dad, who worked for our city as a firefighter at the time, convinced me to apply for the position since it was with the government which meant “more money” (compared to, say, working at the local movie theatre) and would look better on a resume (which, for a theatre major, I don’t see how that was applicable to me, but as a college student, who questions rationale when it comes to your potential for being hired anywhere after graduation?)

While I had no job experience at the time, and certainly no experience with wielding machinery that weighed half my size, I somehow was hired.

Here’s what I learned about my time as a professional weed wacker:

• Smokers, coffee drinkers, and fast food addicts are the worst litterbugs in the world

No this wasn’t me but it might as well have been

One of the tasks as a professional weed wacker (okay, okay, I don’t think that was the actual job title but we’ll go with it) is to pick up any litter and debris before cutting any grass. Which means most of the day is spent picking up other people’s garbage and let me tell you — it humbles you pretty fast; as fast as it makes you mad at anyone who doesn’t pick up after themselves. The top three things we picked up were always cigarette butts, empty coffee cups, and fast food containers. Honestly, pick up your shit (and maybe skip the bad habits while you’re at it?)

• Dog walkers who don’t pick up their dog shit are also the worst

  

  Pick up your dog shit please

No one told me in the job interview that getting dog shit in the face was one of the occupational hazards, but it was. Here’s how it works: you’re going along, weed wacking along a fence line, and, unbeknownst to you, hidden in the grass is some dog shit, which, when it hits your string, flies up and hits you square in the face. Thankfully, you’re wearing your safety glasses but as for the rest of your visage? No bueno. Shit is all up in your nose, on your chin, and, yes, mouth. Did you swallow some dog shit? You don’t want to think about it as you drop your weed wacker and have a silent scream. Your crew captain drops you off at your house so you can quickly shower and change. “It happens,” she says. And, she’s right. Because it will happen again, and again... and it doesn’t get better. Because it’s shit.

I repeat: pick up your (literal) shit.

• Your lost cat is probably dead

As an animal lover and cat owner, I hate to break it to you, but those posters of Lost Cat that you’ve plastered around the neighbourhood is probably moot. Mittens is dead. How do I know? Because while I was trimming weeds in the ditch off the highway, I saw her. Stone cold, frozen in time, dead as a door nail. Same goes for Pepper or Snuggles or whomever belonged to the mangled parts I witnessed while cutting grass near your house. If you think the cat will come back the very next day, no. She’s dead.

• Baby bunnies are very quick but not quick enough for a weed wacker

  

  I hope this one little guy made it…(probably not)

This is a story I don’t share with a lot of people, so consider yourself very lucky that you’re privy to this information. It’s a story that, while I might make light of now, it deeply disturbed me for many weeks.

I’d also like to preface I’ve been a vegetarian for eight years and once worked at a well-known animal welfare organization. Not that it takes away from what happened. But I just need to say this because I feel I need to convey how horrific this was to my core.

Okay. Are you ready?

I killed a whole family of bunnies. Baby bunnies.

Of course this wasn’t done on purpose! I was innocently trimming along what I thought was an abandoned tree stump. Within seconds, dozens of bunnies shot up from the tree, both scaring the shit outta me and getting caught in the deadly spinning line of my weed wacker. Some lost a limb. Others lost a tail, or worse…

I immediately dropped my equipment upon the travesty, panicked and upset. Unfortunately, the rest of my crew were busy cutting grass on their large ride-ons and didn’t notice what was happening. Despite my frantic attempts to get their attention, the bunnies splayed out on the grass, running as fast as their little legs could take them (well, at least the ones who could walk). I was eventually successful in getting my crew captain’s attention to shut off the machines but it was too late. The damage had already been done. By some sheer miracle they had survived my weed wacker, but they couldn’t, and didn’t, survive the menacing and deadly blades of the lawn tractors.

LOOK OUT!

It was like World War 2. Bodies, blood, bunny body parts everywhere. I mean, I’m telling you, there were tons of bunnies. I still don’t understand how they all fit into that tree stump.

But wait! There was one saving grace: a tiny bunny had, miraculously, survived and was… heading for the highway. I dashed for him, frightened that for all his luck (talk about a lucky rabbit’s foot!) he was going to get hit by a Mack truck…alas, I was too late. However, he safely crossed the highway. I’d like to think he lived a long bunny life. I’m probably wrong about that.

Anyway, I cried for days.

• I was a lot cooler than I probably thought because no one at 20 knows what they’re doing

This is the only picture I have of me in the OUTFIT. I wore it as a costume for my 21st birthday. That’s my mom in the pic. We are very drunk.

I worked alongside other university students and I always thought most of them were in on something that I didn’t know. You know when you’re a freshman in high school and the seniors always look like they’re 30 and mature? Meanwhile they’re just 17 and barely out of puberty and they are clearly not as mature as you think but they look it? That thing. Like, they have something figured out or they’ve done stuff you haven’t done and it shows.

Here’s the thing — despite me living in New York, going to NYU, doing something completely different than what I was exposed to growing up — I felt very uncool. In fact, in some ways, those are the very reasons why I felt so uncool.

I wasn’t popular. I didn’t date. I didn’t party - you know, the traditional markers of youth we tend to grade upon instead of integrity, kindness, and respect. But whatever. We’re all young once. So for the longest time I didn’t think I was “cool” in the Millennial sense of the term (because I am pretty sure Gen Z doesn’t give two shits about dating and partying because they’re more obsessed with saving the planet and righting our wrongs).

Anyway I was pretty much happy with who I was but I knew (or I assumed!) I didn’t fit into their world. So I would look at these people I worked with and think they had this big “secret” to life because they were hitting the bars after work, or hooking up with each other, drinking over bonfires, and just embodying what it meant to be a typical 20-year-old, something I was clearly not. I also didn’t feel attractive. I mean, I know I was wearing a butt-ugly uniform but it went deeper than that. Because I didn’t feel like I fit in, I didn’t feel anyone would “get” me or find me attractive and worth knowing.

So I hung back a lot from socials. I didn’t really engage except for the small circle of friends I had met on my crew.

But looking back, they weren’t cooler than me. I mean, they were all right. But they didn’t know anything that I didn’t know. They were just as insecure as I was. They probably had the same doubts and fears as we all do but channeled them differently. I channeled my angst into making creative projects, like plays, and they channeled theirs by popping wheelies over a bonfire while high as a kite.

Potatoe, potata.

I wish I let them know me better and felt like I was worth knowing. I wish I knew then that I was just as cool for doing my thing even if we weren’t doing the same things in life. I wish I knew even if we do have perceived differences, there’s room for all of us to connect, learn from each other, and feel good about ourselves. I think that’s a life lesson we can all take to the bank even now.

• It’s important to try new things way out of your wheelhouse (for a short time)

  

  But ask me if I’ve ever cut grass again…

Sometimes I wonder why on earth I spent two summers wacking weeds when it was clearly something I was only mediocre about in every sense of the word. At the time we had a neighbour up the street who asked my mom why I didn’t pursue working in film during the summer since that was my major at NYU.

Good question!

Here’s what I come to realize about being an artist/writer — doing different things is good for the soul and for the craft. Challenging yourself to try new experiences that are so out of your comfort zone allows you to lean into your edges while also bringing a forth a richness of life that I don’t think you normally find when doing something you’re comfortable with. I don’t think life is meant to always be comfortable. I think we grow the most when we surprise ourselves. I think it builds character and resilience and grace when we encounter new people and new challenges. I think if we allow for it — we can evolve into more empathetic creatures as a result and understand why people do the things they do at a deeper level. THESE ARE GOOD THINGS FOR US!

While I think we need to be true to who we are, including following our passions and interests, I also think it’s good to say, “I’ll do this thing even if I don’t think I’ll love it” because doing something totally weird and uncomfortable and unlike US (or who we think we are) also lets us experience a different side of ourselves, allowing us to see the world through a new lens, which I think is always ALWAYS a valuable gift as a person and as an artist.

Even if that lens is covered in dog shit.

TO BE CONTINUED….