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can I help you?

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

So I went for a wander through the city because the weather was decent and there's the possibility that I'll find contract work here in Calgary. Eventually, I found myself in Mount Royal, a foofie neighborhood south-west of the city center. I'd been trudging along for about two hours by this point, and wanted a place to sit for a spell. When I found a low stone wall around some bushes in front of a gargantuan (and, I have to say, sinfully ugly) 'house', I sat on it (the wall) and relaced my shoes. I'd been there for all of a minute and a half when the owner emerged to ask me 'if he could help me'. I told him no, that I was just resting. He didn't seem to have anywhere to take that, and he retreated.

I've sat on low walls in front of far larger homes in more expensive cities elsewhere (even at night) while on my treks, and never been asked to move on (which is what he was doing). Calgary sure is a funny place; like a Calgarian's property is some sort of sacred holy ground bought and paid for (doubly, if you count taxes, which let me tell you, an Albertan does). I really can't stand this place; pity what they've done with one of the most beautiful places on Earth.