HOTTEST DAY OF THE YEAR

HOTTEST DAY OF THE YEAR

IT WAS THE HOTTEST DAY OF THE YEAR! That’s gonna be tomorrow's headline, guaranteed. It’s at least a thousand degrees out. I mean I dunno what it actually is, but whatever…it’s fuckin hot, like gross hot. Like I actually feel angry, kind of hot. How is it sticky and dusty at the same time? Some atmospheric “heat dome” bullshit they’re calling it. All I know is people lose their freAk’n minds when it gets like this. I wanna be really really clear here, I’m not talking one of those warm, let’s just all slow down and pace ourselves kind of a day either. Nah, this kind of heat feels different, like a rash. Like I’m itching in places I just can’t scratch and I’m starting to wonder what tinfoil tastes like kind of different!

I’m on zero sleep. It’s only 9 a.m. and this apartment is already unbearable. Today is the last Saturday of the month and I’ve got collections to do. Normally I leave it till tomorrow afternoon but my route tomorrow is super heavy and with today’s expected record temperatures, I have a better chance of catching people at home this morning. Wallet-check, keys-check,…time to go!

Stepping into the hallway is a full on nightmare. Sensory overload! Muscle memory alone finds the keyhole because my eyes are closed and my head is pitched forward. Subconsciously I am holding my breath. Impulsive responses to the assault hitting all my senses at once. There is no defense from the stench and the noise and I am immediately overwhelmed.

Curry on one side, cabbage on the other, complex offerings from the Super Sized Mc Value menu also hang in the air. Paired with stale cigarette smoke, dirty litter boxes, and even dirtier diapers, the concoction stings my eyes and burns my sinuses. Actually it’s the subtle notes of sour milk and moldy laundry that sit more heavily in the back of my throat and cause an involuntary gag.

Bollywood is competing with Bob Barker and his girls for airwave dominance. Blasting from shitty T.V. speakers, both are losing the volume battle to the crying babies and tantrumming toddlers demanding attention. Briefly my ear finds solace courtesy of my Rastafarian brother down the hall. Wafting my way with a hint of ganja I hear the soulful cry of the other Bob, Mr.Marley and the wailers are convincing me Ayree teeng gonna be alright.

There is a hum to this place. Doors and windows are wide open while fans and window shakers are desperately trying to defy mother nature's will. Appliances and light ballasts buzz defiantly while the elevator can be heard straining to keep up with demand. Heavy foot traffic can be heard and even felt as it reverberates through the solid concrete floors and cinder block walls.

The click of my key in the lock signals my brain to open my eyes, resume breathing, and mentally prepare to officially start my day.

Just one last chore.

I carry a bottle of “ENO” in my pocket, an effervescent for aiding with indigestion. Popping the top I spread a thin layer of the fine white powder along the floor beneath my door. To date this has been the only method proven effective for keeping cockroaches from entering my apartment. No idea why but an oldtimer tipped me to the trick and it just works. Nothing is 100% of course but it helps between sprayings.

Heading to the elevator now I am careful to walk down the middle of the hall. There is a film of residue on the walls. Some combination of airborne contaminants, perhaps from the ancient furnace system, or leachate from the lead based paint, or decades of unabated nicotine build-up, who knows. I do know that when it’s humid like this the walls sweat and happily transfer said residues onto unsuspecting clothing that errantly make contact.

Even the floors are covered with a slurry now. Various foot prints, paw prints, and even the unmistakable wheel tracks from a grocery cart are present. I can feel that my feet want to slip and slide on the dampness but the texture of the worn bake-o-lite tiles with their cracks and divided seams offer traction.

I am smiling out loud now as I walk quickly past the garbage shoot door. I can see the distinct marks on the floor where Shane pulled up to the garbage shoot with his collapsible grocery cart, spun it around, and then went back and onto the elevator. Clearly he too is having a shitty morning.

Shane and I are sort of neighbours, we live on the same floor but in neighbouring buildings. We both have paper routes but for different companies. Collapsible grocery carts are the de facto vehicle of choice for delivering newspapers In Toronto in the 80’s. There are basically two major competing newspapers. You have THE SATURDAY STAR or THE SUNDAY SUN. Both thrive primarily on their weekend editions, which for a subscription fee you can have delivered to your door.

Shane's route is today and I’m pretty sure I know what he did here. Fawking inserts! Advertisers supply bundles of flyers that have to be “inserted” into the folds of the paper making them much thicker and heavier. End of the month means this extra load can be extreme. This is the first stop on his route and it looks like his only paying customer must be Mr. Dreadlocks. I’m betting Shayne said screw it and dumped his flyers straight down that garbage shoot! I don’t know what will happen to him for this but, I do know Shane, and doing this kinda bullshit today in this heat?...ya, he don’t care!

I have a particular soft spot for Shane. At 16 he’s a couple years younger than me, but we both came up through the Foster program. I landed here through an independent living initiative but Shane however, is a ward of the state under strict conditions laid out by the department of corrections. That right there is a whole different set of circumstances.

The hardest part for Shane is that the Juvy court ordered he remain in Foster care until his 18th birthday. He has been counting the days and looking forward to “getting out” at 16. Finding out he couldn’t leave devastated him. Shane landed with an abusive couple who only identified as such for the purposes of running their grift on the system. When an adolescent is mandated to care with additional conditions, the care provider is awarded additional compensation. Cha-Ching! Nobody was going to bat for that kid I promise.

Ding! The elevator door opens and the smile quickly leaves my face. The last working bulb is flickering and buzzing like it wants to blow in grand fashion. The suicidal fly attacking it seems to share it’s goal. I can feel my eyeballs sweating. As I pinch the bridge of my nose, I squeeze a little too hard and for a little too long. Partly to purge the sweat, and partly to punish myself for not being born to a better circumstance in life. Let’s see if there’s any new ‘art’ installments in here today.

“Joni luvs Chachi”. Yep, No shit, someone actually carved that in the wall. You have the various assortments of initials in hearts, of course, most have some sort of attempt to erase or deface one set or the other. Impossible to imagine a relationship declaring true love in an elevator carving could possibly fail?! Clearly the posers with Sharpies never had a chance. Possibly the stunning array of dicks and balls depicted on these hallowed walls left some girls yearning for more, and maybe a few fellas feeling inadequate? Either way I’m sure at least some of these “for a good time call...#’s” are the aforementioned star crossed lovers' retaliations.

Ding…

When the door opens to the basement a new host of sensations smack me in the face. The first one is actually a relief! Cooler, darker and quieter down here. It feels like I’ve travelled through time and found a secret dimension. Still nervous. Still scanning for the ambush as all my primitive instincts are still in high gear. Something is definitely off today. There is a dark mojo in the air I just can’t reconcile.

I came to the basement level where the storage lockers are. This is where I keep my bike. It’s also where the electrical and mechanical rooms are. We have an “on call” janitor maintenance type guy named Mike who has a little office down here too. There is also a garbage room where the chutes from each floor empty into a large bin that gets emptied by a truck twice a week. Mike always digs through the dumpster before wheeling it out and has accumulated an impressive collection of porn over the years! In terms of currency, to us minors it might as well be gold! Any little nuisance tasks Mike doesn’t want to do, he gives to us. We gladly do them and barter for centerfolds!

It’s Saturday so Mike shouldn’t be in today but I hear sounds coming from his office? Prolly just left the radio on. He’s always listening to talk radio. Mostly weirdo George Noory kinda shit. Aliens and conspiracies nonsense stuff. I’m gonna double check cuz it just feels like an end of the world as we know it kinda day.

Knock knock “Yo, Mr. Mike! Are you there?” I hollered

“Yeah I’m here for fuck sakes, C’mon in” he said kicking the door open.

“ It’s Saturday…you know that right?” I said sarcastically

“Ha ha, funny guy. I’m none to happy about it either. I got a call from the cops, they wanna see some security footage from this morning.” Visibly frustrated now he said “It’s scorching hot out, and instead of fishing, I’m down here in this shithole sweatbox cuz some fuck’n degenerate stole a B.B.Q. or some shit!”

“Did you say a B.B.Q?”

“I know right, wtf? …and get this, it was your little bastard friend Shane that gave the cops my number!” he reached to turn down the radio. “Apparently he was in the lobby sorting his papers and buzzed the guy in!” Mike said this while rolling his eyes right before slapping his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Even gave him a newspaper before he left for fuck sakes! So he gets to the parking lot and some guy in a home hardware uniform says some black guy just walked off with a full size B.B.Q. from his store in the plaza over there” pointing towards the adjoining plaza next door. “He tells the guy to call the cops, and now the cops call me! Tell him ‘thanks a lot’ when you see him!”

I said “ holy shit dude, so Shane never came up today? Hey lemme see in the dumpster real quick, I just wanna check something.”

Man I knew something was messed up today. Looking in the dumpster I see all the usual stuff, but no flyers.

“Hey Mikey, I think I can save you some time” I yelled out to him.

Then the world went nuts!

Fire alarms from both buildings went off. Individual smoke detectors were going off. People were yelling and screaming and knocking on doors as loud as they could. Police cars were already on site so the panic was immediate, and frantic!

Minutes later the firetruck sirens added to the confusion and a crowd is gathering in the parking lot and along the street. The smoke is billowing out every open window on the sixth floor. It is thickest at one end but only marginally. Cops are trying to work crowd control but it’s like herding cats. People are darting in and out to retrieve things, and hide things. Some dressed, some not.

The heat shimmer off the cars and asphalt seem every bit as visible as the roof of the building. The smell and the smoke are terrifying and disgusting but also somehow a little familiar. Firefighters have breached the end unit now and the smoke is giving way to steam as the flames are extinguished fairly quickly.

Later that night sipping a slushy outside the 7-11

“So lemme get this straight, dude walks up rolling a brand new B.B.Q. with a big yellow “today only SALE!” sign on it, and you help him get it up the stairs and buzz him in?!” I said incredulously

“Yup! Turns out your neighbour had a bit of a meltdown!” Shane laughed out loud at his own joke. “Yeah, so apparently dude was over in ‘Little Kingston Town’ all night trimming ganja. I guess he got a little too ‘contact high’ and left with a freAkn pillowcase of trimmings. On his way home he cut through the plaza, the hardware store guy was putting stuff out for a sidewalk sale and our brother just walked away with it!”

“Unreal. So Mike said dude realized he didn’t even have a propane tank and just started crumpling up the newspaper…flyers and all!” At this we were both in tears laughing.

Catching his breath, Shane continued “So I don't know what he was thinking but he lit a monster fire out of paper in the B.B.Q , and then just kept adding shit until it was totally out of control, and then he panicked. He decided to get rid of the evidence by dumping the whole bag of weed on the fire!”

“Mike said the building had to stay evacuated even from cops and investigators until hazmat was convinced nobody was going to get high!” I could hardly get the words out.

“Well, I guess Mr. ‘Buffalo Soldier’ is gonna have a long night. Hey, by the way, Mike says thanks!”