Real talk

by RAF KATIGBAK

Attitude, you got some fucking attitude
I can’t believe what you said to me
You got some attitude
—The Misfits

Ah, Glenn Danzig. When he’s not entertaining people by showing off his book collection or getting punched out by security guards backstage (YouTube these), he’s a great source of in-depth, emotionally complex lyrics and an inspiration to tiny guys with huge pecs and Napoleon complexes all over the world (listen to “Last Caress” and just try to tell me it’s not the most beautiful song that happens to be about raping and killing ever).

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m an overly polite wimp who apologizes to inanimate objects when I bump into them or because I’ve been listening to a lot of ’80s hardcore, but my glaring lack of attitude has really been on my mind lately. I recently spent some time in New York City, where I believe they’ve been adding attitude to the drinking water since the 1920s, and I marvelled at how ballsy people are. There is something about being able to call someone out for butting in front of you in line, especially if the person is a blind octogenarian with a severe nerve disorder; it’s just so darn impressive. And it’s not that New Yorkers are rude. In fact, they are often very polite. It’s just that they don’t put up with bullshit and are always ready to speak frankly (or “Real Talk,” as Kells calls it).

Is it because New Yorkers think they’re the centre of the world and so are entitled to everything? Or is it that things go so fast, there’s no time for platitudes? Either way, as a self-professed nice Canadian, at first I found it a little disconcerting. Why can’t we all just get along? But after a while, it’s actually quite refreshing.

I read somewhere that if we added up all the time we wasted waiting (for transportation, for elevators etc.), by the time we were 70 we would have lost three years. I have a feeling if Canadians added up the times they said, “Excuse me would you mind terribly if…” we could probably add a few years to that.

But sometimes, being a Canadian can actually come in handy. Case in point, while at a party in New York, a B.C.-based photographer friend recounted a story of how he and his girlfriend were touring St. Louis, Missouri in 2002. A nice excursion in theory, except that 2002 happened to be the year the city topped the nation’s Most Dangerous list. What was worse was they had somehow gotten lost in a particularly derelict part of town. And they were white. And they were travelling in a rusty, sunshine yellow VW van. These things combined, we discovered from a Missouri girl who heard the story, was a recipe for getting “gigged like a frog,” which, for those not familiar with local slang, is a very bad thing.

No sooner had he stepped out of their rusty hippie-mobile than a gang of 10 black leather-clad bikers on crotch rockets zipped past them, screeched to a halt at the end of the road and dismounted. The group walked toward them, a small stocky biker in the lead. At that point, his girlfriend completely flipped and started yelling at him to get back in the van. He couldn’t hear her. All he could think about was what his father told him about facing bears in the mountains of British Columbia—don’t move. The gang stopped six feet away, which gave the scene a surreal bowling-alley-in-negative look, with the bikers like black shiny leather balls standing in a perfect 10-pin formation and my friend standing alone, pin-like, stark white, with a red neck. The leader slowly Terminator-scanned him up and down and then walked behind the van, stopping at the license plate. Suddenly lifting the helmet’s visor, the leader wheeled around and my friend was surprised to see that it was a woman. Immediately, the leader screwed up her face and declared in a thick, confounded St. Louis accent, “British Columbia?!” With that, she shrugged, turned her group around, remounted and zipped away.

The New Yorkers hearing this story laughed at how naïve we Canadians are. “You are sooo lucky! What, just because you guys have health care, you think you’re invincible? Like, if you get stabbed, suddenly a helicopter covered in red and white maple leaves will appear and air-lift you over the border?”

No, we don’t think we’re invincible and sure, we might not have attitude. But sometimes all you need is a friendly smile, some wilderness survival instincts and a country full of crazy names like British Columbia and Saskatchewan.

IS CANADA TOO FRIENDLY? HIT ME UP AT: Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca