Hello Toronto

Man, are my feet sore. And my voice is hoarse, too. Walking and talking all day long can really take it out of you. But - I think Stalking the Job is making some headway.

The first stop of the day was the Toronto Star building at the foot of Yonge Street. I took a somewhat circuitous route to get there, walking north to King and west to Yonge before turning south, but this allowed me to saunter past a number of design companies and George Brown College. There were a great many GBC students wandering about in the immediate area of the college, and several made inquiries about the QR code. On arriving at the Star building, I could see a small throng of people standing outside - I assumed they were employees, out for a mid-morning smoke break. And I was dead wrong.

Turns out they were organizers from Occupy Toronto! And though they felt they'd found a kindred spirit in me, I couldn't help but think that my own message would be lost somewhat while standing in their shadow. It seemed they were intent on entering the building (if I recall correctly, there was a member of the staff they were planning to speak with about their ongoing protest) but as I was there for a somewhat different purpose I decided not to hitch my kite and remained outdoors. I was able to talk with a few employees, including a Star photographer and a videographer who - much to their credit - stood, listened, and yes, scanned the QR code and gave the video a once-over. After wishing me well on my journeys, I then made my way back north along Yonge up to Front Street. Next stop, the CBC!

It was warm walking in the sunlight on the north side of Front Street. The south side of course is bathed in perpetual shadow this time of year, and the Metro Convention Centre can make for a really dead stretch of the city when it isn't playing host to a trade expo or conference. But off in the distance, looming (for me, anyway) like an urban media Mecca, stood the CBC. Mothercorp. Home of Hockey Night in Canada, of The Beachcombers, of David Suzuki, Front Page Challenge, Mr. Dressup and a hundred-and-one childhood memories. And as I approached this Holy of Holies, this semi-mythical TV kingdom, I could see... some other fat bastard standing out front, a home-made placard hanging from his shoulders. Wtf?

Closer now, I could see that he was a man on a misson - a man with a message. And his message apparently had something to do with "creeping jihadism" (he'd included this phrase twice, so I gathered this was the true substance of his statement). I made a mental note to steer well clear of this man; after all, I was on a mission too. And my mission doesn't have anything to do with the Middle East. Look, believe it or not, it's actually fairly difficult to get people to do something as innocuous as scan a QR code. I think it's largely to do with our deeply-ingrained Canadian social programming (look away, don't engage, and keep to yourself at all costs), but I try overcoming it - with friendly smiles and courteous nods of acknowledgement. And should some brave soul themselves break the ice and ask a question or two, I'll happily engage them while trying to ascertain their true level of interest. HOWEVER... throw a protestor into the mix  (or a panhandler, a well-intentioned charity worker, or even a canvasser) and all bets are well and truly OFF. See, if there's so much as an outside chance that you (well, me really, the guy with the QR code hanging off his chest) are somehow involved with/adjunct/related to the big hairy freakshow with the hand-lettered rant about Israel sprouting from shoulders, then people won't take a chance on interacting with you.

I decided to slowly circle the building a few times, discovering along the way that the adjacent park is a bit of a hangout for skateboarders. On my third orbit, the hairy nutter out front of the building commented somewhat rather snarkily that I "needed a bigger sign". Without skipping a beat (and without bothering to look back over my shoulder), I quipped that he "needed a haircut". Seriously folks - if you want to be taken seriously, you're never going to manage it while dressed like a bum and sporting stringy, greasy hair... never mind the screeching home-made placard, etched in indelible ink. But anyway, a CBC minion out for a smoke break eventually took some interest and after asking permission, peeled off a snap to upload to his Twitter account. And no, as of penning this latest entry on Stalking the Job I do not personally have a Twitter account, although I will be taking a much closer look at that particular social media tool in the next few days.

It was at or around this point that I began feeling keenly aware of the rather large coffee I'd had prior to leaving the house that morning. Luckily, I knew of a friendly delicatessen a few blocks north and west - Zupa's, one of my old lunchtime haunts. Thinking back on it, for the better part of twelve years (out of the last twenty) I've eaten my lunch at Zupa's. It's nothing much, really; it's just a hole-in-the-wall eatery that's incredibly tiny inside. But the food has always been excellent, and the lunchtime trade has always been most impressive indeed. The place has changed hands twice that I know of. I'll frequently bump into various members of the Zupa staff in the most unexpected places. So, after first taking a load off my bladder I proceeded to take a load off my feet... and settled in for a grilled cheese and fries.

Feeling re-energized, I hoofed it over to the corner of Queen & John, home of MuchMusic, CP24, and a half-dozen or so cable specialty channels. It was there that I was approached by an odd sort of fellow, a man who after inquiring as to the "nature of my struggle", spoke to me at length about all manner of things (although he did seem to keep circling back to Luciferianism). At one point he removed his sunglasses and continued talking, but it seemed as though he never once blinked his eyes...like he was trying to fix me with the old mesmer stare. To what end, I have no clue - but it felt as though perhaps he was trying to send me some sort of message via telepathy. If that were the case, I've no doubt he came away disappointed, as I'm not really wired for psychic discourse...

After taking leave of my Luciferian acquaintance I encountered a photographer further west on Queen, who rather apologetically inquired as to the efficacy of QR codes in general, as he'd had some sort of idea involving tourism, technology, and his homeland (the Azores). I chatted with him for a short while before continuing on to my next (and as it happened, my final) stop of the day - Canada's national daily newspaper, the Globe and Mail.

Interestingly, both the Toronto Star and the Globe are located somewhat off the beaten path. The Star building, situated on Queen's Quay, is effectively "cut off" from the rest of the city by the Gardiner Expressway and the eastern rail egress coming out from Union Station in the heart of downtown Toronto. The Globe, meanwhile, is located on a mostly-barren stretch of Front Street close to Bathurst. In either case, there is nothing of any great consequence - no areas of significant interest - to be found in the immediate environs (other than the newspapers themselves). There is, therefore, little chance of "doubling-up" and canvassing studios or other businesses in the area. Another drawback is that with so little else in the area, the prospect of interacting with passersby is dim, at best. Because there simply aren't any to interact with.

It was while I lingered outside the Globe (and wondering whether I was wasting my time there), that I was approached by a fellow named Dwight who, as it happened, was an employee of CBC. I mentioned that I'd been there earlier in the day and he asked whether anyone from CBC had spoken to me. After recounting an abridged version of events, he said that his duties involve him with several different programs (some on television, some radio) and  would I mind if he could have a business card and take my photo - ?

Sure thing. Happy to oblige. And who knows? Perhaps something will come from it...

By this time my feet were rapidly turning to clay. So with the sun then at my back, I made my way wearily home. Along the way I had a companion, a personable young fellow who seemed rather taken with my endeavour. We walked and talked, moving with the flow of commuters making their way to Union Station, until we parted ways. Pleasant enough guy; damned if I can remember his name. The rest of the walk home was relatively uneventful, save for an encounter just east of the St. Lawrence Market with a somewhat less-than sane man in a black dress. I say "less-than sane" not because he was wearing a dress - I say it because, after enduring a rather fantastically one-sided exposition that was largely concerned with "letting go", I could see clearly that he wasn't firing on all thrusters, so to speak.

By the time I made my way up the flight of stairs inside my home, I was exhausted. Walked out. Talked out. Sore. Hoarse. Ready for anything involving a hot bath and slippers. But all in all, I'd say today was a success. Things I'd do differently? Getting an earlier start. I'd had business to attend to with our housing co-op this morning so I couldn't realistically head out the door until after 10 AM, but tomorrow I'm going to try for a very early start. Also, picking up a new pair of shoes or perhaps a set of gel insoles. The board itself is mercifully light-weight, but eight hours of walking around Toronto is definitely proving to be a challenge. The optimist in me thinks I'll get accustomed to it, while the pessimist thinks I'll end up in a wheelchair. I think I'll choose to trust the voice of optimism on this one.

So... guess I'll see you around! Night, night.