TRAVIS WEAGANT
<Editor-in-Chief>
I knew throughout my entire 8 months as a 1L that the summer of 2012 would be the last summer of my life. I don’t mean to say that I plan on departing this world before June 2013, but rather that the rest of my tenure as a postsecondary student is quite deliberately scheduled: 2L, summer at a law firm, 3L, bar exam, articles, real life. Not that this is some terrible problem or anything – I came here to become a lawyer, after all – but, nonetheless, I felt compelled to spend this summer doing something outside my field.
So, as those who care about my life (Hi Mom!) already know, I went overseas and became a tour guide at the Canadian and Newfoundland First World War memorials in the north of France. As it turns out, much of what I did there was very relevant to my career indeed, and both of my places of work are deeply important to Canada’s cultural memory; but those are both stories for another time.
Today’s story is the story of how, over the course of my summer in Europe, I plumbed the depths of my own unreasonableness and discovered that it pales in comparison to that which I encountered over the past 120 days. I had the time of my life this summer, but sometimes you just can’t hold your tongue, especially when it comes to…
1. OSAP
For anyone planning on undertaking the task of applying for student aid from overseas: don’t. Getting even your own income information in a timely manner from outside Canada is like trying to rob Fort Knox by accident. If you’re working full time while away, it severely compromises your ability to play games with an organization that, despite it being 2012, is apparently unfamiliar with email or international phone calls. I have no more to say on this subject, as my doctor has advised me to keep my blood pressure down. I’ve been eating healthy and exercising, but for some reason student loans just put me over the edge. I’ll move on.
2. Air Travel
While returning to Canada, I realized that I have experienced the sensation of lifting off of the ground in an aircraft precisely 31 times in my life. Some people find it terrifying; I find it kick-ass. Airplanes are a fast way to get from A to B; or, rather, they used to be. I boarded my 11AM flight from Paris to New York-JFK at 10:30. It was precisely at this moment that the French authorities decided to perform a random check on the plane to ensure that American Airlines was not cutting any corners on safety. Fair enough, you say.
The inspection took 3 hours, a period that, as those of you who have visited France may have guessed, was replete with smoking breaks. This I can only assume, as I sat in my seat the entire time. Upon arrival, I had missed my connection to Toronto. The airline then transferred me to another of the Port Authority’s three major international airports to get me home, requiring me to endure the thoroughly arduous ordeal of traversing airport security in the United States.
Israel, perhaps the most vulnerable state in the world to suicide terrorism, has never seen an outbound flight hijacked or an attack in an airport since instituting a security system that emphasizes the avoidance of the formation of crowds in airports, including security screening lines. I’m not going to be a grumbly civil libertarian and talk about how intrusive the American screening process is, because I don’t care. The Department of Homeland Security has every reason to be cautious, but couldn’t they make the procedure less exhausting?
Nothing, however, is as infuriating as my realizations about…
3. Alcohol
I spent a great deal of my time off this summer in Belgium, the land of milk and honey for beer lovers (which I suppose just makes it the land of beer). It is a fantastic and magical place where even monks got in on the brewing action, and, in fact, became its greatest exemplars. Their crowning triumph, a heavenly nectar called Orval, goes for about €1 per 330mL bottle. I also visited the Czech Republic, where quantity and quality of beer have converged upon a divine equilibrium, allowing one to purchase 0.5L of Pilsner Urquell for 29 Kč ($1.45). This is the price of beer in a bar. Half-litre bottles are also available in corner stores for 10 Kč (50¢). France is also famous for its wine, the mediocre specimens of which are available for €3, in a 750mL bottle.
I do not need to rattle off the prices of the same beverages as available in Ontario bars and liquor stores. You all know perfectly well what they are, and that they are exorbitant. I have recently repeatedly heard the LCBO’s existence described as “morally indefensible.” It, and the provincial governments that benefit from its profitability, repeatedly describe it as an institution that promotes social responsibility. In other words, it exists to control alcohol consumption. Could someone, then, please explain to me why an organization created to restrict the consumption of the product it sells continues to advertise?
Then again, I’m sure that the LCBO’s marketing director is reasonably talented and well paid. I shouldn’t talk: I do this for free and all I do is bitch.
