Time passed, and thoughts of ‘running away from home faded, with the advent of a few employment misadventures. I was an older looking teen, naive and ignorant of the city’s ways, but who had an enterprising mother able to secure access to after-school/evening, weekend and summer employment opportunities. One such employer was also enterprising. He was adept at negotiating and turning empty gas-station lots into parking lot-ventures, and with me one of their lot-attendant. He chose to place me at a most interesting location in the latter part of my high school years. 


I would arrive there at the gas station’s closing time.  The owner gave me the ‘washroom key’, which was to be my office. It was also my warm-up station during the upcoming winter months, ‘signage’ and chair storage, for me to strategically place in the lot. This lot was on a street perpendicular to street running north-south just outside today’s Yorkville-Hazelton Lanes development. 


On this job I was introduced to the kindness of strangers, experience driving a manual-transmission Corvette Stingray, and Yorkville of the 60s albeit only being on the periphery observing goings on.


During this period of Life orientation, observing goings on, I met two foot-patrol officers. I was still in my police-familiar phase, and was able to engage with them in easy conversation. They appeared interested in my observations, which I expressed with cantor, as I did my job parking cars. 


Easily overlooked by passers-by, I was able to offer insights of going on each time they dropped by. It occurred to me, during one of their routine visits, that these patrol officers conversation were becoming detailed questioning which an intuitive discomfort and I became reluctant to answer further. 


I was unaware what it meant to be a ‘confidential informant’, but I felt it unwise to engage further in conversation with these patrol officers. Synchronistically, they may have felt it too. They may have realized I did not fit their stereotypical insights. Their inquiries and visits ceased. Thereafter, I noticed them patrolling on the opposite side of the street and my unease faded, by and bye.


It is my belief, Life/Providence has ways of closing the circle on each of Its processes without counsel and effort. Years later, while I was working on a different summer job, a synchronicity occurred partial to the aforementioned parking lot attendant job process coming full circle, which I had forgotten during my pubescent fervour. 


This job’s early-morning process involved the distribution of each day’s delivery routes. Thereafter, we would make our way to our designated locations, and did our rounds delivering mail to those named on each envelope. One day, I recognized a name on one of the letters as I made my way into an allocated neighbourhood. I walked up the path to the door, knocked and waited. The door opened and I offered the mail to the named individual. 


As the door opened, if in slow motion, I smiled a familiar smile into the recipient’s surprised face. I was greeting one of the foot-patrol officers who had conversed with me, on my previous summer job as a parking lot attendant. It was a most surreal experience. Few words were exchanged, just cordial small talk. I turned on his door-step, with my mail-bag hanging on my hip, and simply walked back down his walkway, neither of us casting eyes on each other ever again.


Life in all Its vicissitudes!




2a. Getting Oriented c. 64

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