The fire exit on the second floor was blocked. I was shocked. I know the fire code is a bit touchy about sealing shut fire exits. You know, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. Gosh, how many times did I hear about that from my socialist teachers in High School. And again, at trade school, and in the Union. Those evil white settler colonialists, don't you know. Blocking fire exits! Blocking fire exits is bad, or it used to be; except, I guess, if you are not an evil white settler colonialist. Anyway, the blinky Exit light is still there (so you can escape in the smoke, eh), but there is no Exit hole.
It was too late. I was already inside the bookstore, wondering at why someone would seal off a fire exit and leave the sign behind, then I realized why. The big name book store owner was not an evil white settler colonialist. No way. That makes it OK. Instead, the big brand store was a target for mostly peaceful protest. There is a lot of it going around now in Toronto, the City of Light. The blocked fire exit was to stop any mostly peaceful activists from doing a front and back style protest
Two public exits. Both on the ground floor, one facing Yonge street, the other into the mall. The street culture in this part of town is ripped down Israeli kidnap posters, and undefaced River to the Sea cheerleading, so I figure some diversity expertarian suggested blocking the fire exit to keep the hostiles off the second floor so the surviving staff could rally on the high ground and have a height advantage for melee.
The cashbox. The sales registers have been consolidated on the first floor. This is like packing your airplanes together at Pearl Harbor in '41. Good idea if you are worried about partisans sneaking into your airfield. Good idea, I thought. I counted two cashiers and one float around manager. Plenty to defend the cash box from undernourished scum. And the cash registers do not face the big glass window that fronts Yonge street. I would not want my sales staff distracted by homeless scum masturbating against the window or taking a shit on the sidewalk. Who ever thought this through is a deep thinker. I like that. I felt safe.
The staff wore badges. Most of them, anyway. I counted eight badged staff and twenty seven shoppers. The floating manager was not wearing a badge. I spotted that one from It's body language. The security guard was a recovering heroin addict quasi sex trade worker. Five feet of total intimidation, backed up with a scary badge that said Security, Birkenstock combat sandals, and a list of numbers to call for help. I walked up to It from behind and followed It around for a bit, looking for book bargains. Even the stench from my homeless outfit did not distract staff from avoiding my gaze and looking away, looking down at their shoes.
The second floor. There used to be a public exit up there, but, as I said, it was blocked off. There is also a coffee shop. Inviting, the smell of fresh coffee! From the coffee shop you can see the bed set up in the children's book section. I guess you can hang out with children on a bed for your personal story time. The bed had a white metal frame, with rope burns on the metal. I always associated those sorts of beds with bondage scenes. Maybe that is where they have their Drag Time story hour, in the childrens book section, on a childs bed. So brave.
There are nice places to sit and read a book on the second floor. I counted two bourgeois reading, and three lumpen proletariat. So, I did not sit down to read. I know better. Bedbugs. I did not see any crawling around the chairs, or in the carpet beneath. I am sure that the corporate It that identifies as Mister Spock thought that one through. A good way to keep your mind off scratchy bed bug bites, or the feeling of them crawling through your hair and clothes is to read a good book. With a cuppa joe served up by the bipolar who spikes the brew with Purple Bazooka. Mmmmm.
Public washroom. I think. There used to be one in the place, back when it had an unblocked fire exit. The staff had to share with the public, back then. There is probably some sort of stock room and staff room back there. I did not go looking. I just cannot relax my bladder when I see a sharps container for used needles. There is probably some sort of service exit for logistics, which the mostly peaceful protesters would never be aware of, unless they know how to read blue prints. There would be plenty of cameras, and when you have cameras around a public shitter, you have fetishists getting their exhibitionist jollies. Not my sort of bookstore experience, but the new generation replacing me likes their stinky fun, sniff bags, and, fart chambers. So brave.
DEI workplace. I did not see any white settler colonialists as staff, so I was able to breathe a sigh of progressive relief. I think maybe the bipolar coffee shop staffer was white, but once the hair is electric rainbow, you know they are off the Capitalist plantation. One of the bourgeois sitting on the comfy chairs had a cuppa joe, and she was sleeping with her eyes open and pinpoint pupils, with drool coming from her lips. Re-reading Margaret Atwood, eh? In the bookshelves, where the product sold for money was kept, there were frequent misshelving, and books hidden behind books. I did not hear any ticking from alarm clocks, so any sort of merry pranksters making mischief did not seem to be going on. The two hidden books I saw had dust on them, so the bookstore would be a safe space for Organized Crime to stash drugs or bags of money. Nobody wants to be around a dissatisfied customer, especially a Drug Lord wondering why his bag of money is missing from behind the Barbara Streisand biography which you were just looking at.
Exiting the store, I found my way into the depths of the mall. I was still concerned about fire safety, as I normally would leave my favorite bookstore from the second floor. But, as I said, the fire exit up there was blocked. So, I went through the first floor, down to the liquor store and grocery place. I could see the mall security kiosk in enfilade from the down escalator. All those cameras the three staff were not looking at. They were gossiping with the cell phone kiosk people next door. They were the sturdy and professional types you expect in post white settler colonialist Canada. I felt safe. Even just walking by the security kiosk, I could feel the heat from all those monitors. Must be where the camera recordings are kept. I was concerned that there would be a fire hazard, all that heat, but the sprinkler that used to be above the security kiosk had been dry walled over. How could there be a hazard when the fire sprinkler had been walled up?
I sat down on the hard wooden bench outside the grocery store. I started to read my new book and watch people walk by. Sigh. Memories. And, like clockwork, the nice people from the money truck came by to pick up their bags of paper. Always the same pattern. I was not distracted, though. Even a mostly peaceful protest in the book store would not distract me in my spot where I like to read a book. I am a life long learner!
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.
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