Thursday, September 28, 2006

Three Men and a Pathetic Waste of $150

Last weekend, two teacher friends of mine decided that we’d just about had it up to here with the lack of women in town and needed some… well, action, to put it bluntly. To that end, we set sail for the wondrous town of Flin Flon, Manitoba and stayed the night

You know, it's sad, in a way, when your town's enduring image constantly emits noxious chemicals. Okay, no, that's just sad in every conceivable way.

You must know that Flin Flon is the closest major town. There is another one closer, called Pelican Narrows, but… it’s a native reserve. So… yes, not quite “major”. It’s two and a half hours away, in another province, and in another time zone. By the time you get there, it’s as if you’ve arrived on a steamer in Calcutta or something. Basically, it ain’t Sandy Bay. You’d be amazed how big a town of 6200 feels after being cooped up here for a week.

It’s a mining town; zinc and copper, near as I can figure out. And there’s a giant smokestack emitting sulfur dioxide at every hour of the day. Picturesque, to say the least. It’s a town built on rock, so there’s a lot of sewer pipes exposed above-ground and stuff. It’s weird. It feels a tad like civilization, what with the Wal Mart and grocery stores that sell Marmite.

It also has bars. These bars have women. These women have, from what I have been told, vaginas. With this knowledge in mind, the teachers and I decided to get a room in town and head out to said bars. Now, I’m not gonna lie to you: Spike was not in full-form this evening. In fact, Spike did rather poorly given that I would estimate the female presence there to be well in excess of 60%. And, you know, for an upper-lower class, blue collar mining town, these women were really rather attractive. I guess genetics don’t discriminate based on class.

I think I have it figured out, though. This is a mining town, through and through. There are no other jobs, basically. Where the miners in your local community are treated as plebian slobs, the people who toil and risk their lives underground all day for a living are treated with respect and admiration in Flin Flon. Surprisingly, there is even a majority of women in town who actively seek out miners, if the conversations I had at the bar in Flin Flon are accurate. These men offer money, they offer job security, and they offer a future for women who live in a town where, again, sewer pipes run above ground. Quite frankly, it’s a no-brainer, and I can’t fault them for wanting to set up shop with them rather than some fresh-faced, educated, immaculately-groomed teacher from a native community two hours away who will, at best, show up in town once a weekend for a year and then take off. So, yes… very strange. Guys who wouldn’t get a second look back in Oshawa, Kingston or London are now getting themselves the highest quality tail within hundreds of kilometers of Flin Flon (okay, maybe not Kingston).

It’s funny, what the mind does to you when placed in a situation like mine. The main reason we went to Flin Flon was so a fellow teacher friend of mine could see and talk to a waitress in Flin Flon he’d been served by the previous weekend. And in the bar I met a lovely young lass with whom I struck up a delightful conversation (which is less than I had anticipated). But, you know, the mind starts playing tricks on you; all of a sudden, you start getting crazy thoughts, like… maybe her and I will go out, and I’ll drive in there every weekend to see her and we’ll have fun and then at the end of the year I’ll rescue her from Flin Flon and we’ll live in Ontario. And maybe her parents and all surviving relatives are dead so that we’ll never, ever have to come back to Flin Flon ever again to see them for the holidays. This is the crap your brain will pull on you. I never understood how those dudes in the Second World War movies got by with just a photo of their gal back home. But now… no, fuck it, that’s still just lame. I mean, a photo? What good’s that gonna do you?

Anyway, I never thought I’d say this, but frigging Flin Flon, Manitoba is now a second home to me. That was the second weekend I spent there in a row, and I do plan on going again this weekend (to stay at George Trevor’s place, whose blog is an excellent counterpart to mine and will be plugged in more detail soon enough). In fact, for reasons beyond my comprehension, my dad has decided to join me for a week here in Sandy Bay.

3 Comments:

Blogger Beth said...

so no good lovin for any of you then? What a cryin shame lol

3:08 pm  
Blogger sare said...

Flin Flon, eh? I always thought that was somesort of a pancake or exotic animal. Too bad.

1:13 am  
Anonymous Turtlestack said...

Oh you poor boy. I've worked in a few places that were kissin cousins to Sandy Bay. They deceive with their names, don't they. Why don't they just call them Hell's Toilet or South Devil's Arse Hole and be done with it.
Our couch is always open if you need to run away.

11:34 am  

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