For a while now I was blessed by the city of Toronto with an apartment. It is cheap, clean, and comfortable, with A/C and heating, and a perfect location right in the middle of the downtown core, next to the St. Lawrence market. The kind people of Canada always know how to make things great and peaceful, except when it comes to my little life and my little happiness. Except in the cases of us disabled men, and as I was born kinda sorta blind I seem to fit this criteria, except in our cases, the wonderfully hospitable people of Canada, especially Toronto, certainly know how to make all from the world feel right at home. And when it comes to my complaints and those like me who were disabled since birth or after some unfortunate incident, we are simply never happy and never satisfied as we are less than your equals. This is at least the bully-like attitude of this nation's citizenry. But this blog post is not about that but about refrigerators, or is it?
I am right now in Cozy, a fine coffee shop downtown TO. TO is how we refer to our lovely little slice of space into which we squeeze our life, time, and love into. If we weren't by some choice or prison like reality forced to live here in TO we would be perhaps in Montreal, or even on the moon. Plenty of people have walked on the moon by now, compared to thousands of years ago, so really, the technology for achieving anything exists - it is just a matter of what those in power wish for us all to be able to achieve. And if your social circle hates you, then you are begging for change, even in TO. If you are disabled and are hated, then you not only beg for change but you also can not see those idly passing you by with their Louis Vutton's in tow. In fact, if you are worse off than that guy whom I observed in TO for years now begging then you might just be locked up in a prison or hospital hoping to even feel the wind at your back as many of those places do not even allow individuals to open a window or take a stroll. And obviously like any abusive nation Canada has its own justifications for these people - they are criminals, look at what they did, or even better, they are insane, look at how they behaved. Obviously no sane government will ever confess that it abused its citizens for no valid reason will it? Knowing this simple fact and keeping it mind when reading anything by any authority figure is paramount to grasping reality of most of the nations on planet Earth. And this still has to do with my fridge in my kitchen. Believe me, it does. It is a loud fridge. And when it talks, I listen! I can't talk back to it. Just like our government. I can't tell it what to do and when not to make noise. If I am sleeping or reading a book it has precedence in my aural realm. If it decides to rumble the wooden joints of the apartment and speak in every room with a low baritone voice then all my focusing on Harry Potter or on New Order's latest hit, well, it's always augmented by the vibrations the architects did not care to isolate out of my comfort and joy. My fridge is the boss of peace and thus of me. When it gets turned on, which happens more than I do, seeing as women in TO mostly hate disabled men so I've never yet had a date, whenever it is on, it stays on for half an hour, then its off for 5 minutes and then it's on again. My fridge shakes my whole apartment and there is nothing I know how to do about it. In fact, if my Sony TV is not loud enough to disturb my neighbours, listening to any movie is an exercise of patience and grandiouse zen-like optimism that perhaps this explosion is not coming from the fridge, just this time. The low tones carry better through matter than high tones so if you ever close the door you notice you can hear foot steps way better than female conversations and male ones seem to drown out. This is just a fact of physical reality and as a musician I am keenly attuned to this. And yet my landlord seems to not care.
On the Interwebs I found at least twenty reasons why a fridge might be loud. But my landlord decided to tell me it is my fault the fridge is loud. I kid you not. I pay almost a thousand dollars in rent every month now for almost ten years and I complained exactly three times. I even insisted on getting a new fridge, one with a fancy cool new ice cube system. I suppose this was over the line, as if Canada does not wish to provide me with even a pair of reading glasses, let alone a single date by the time I was forty, and no I have never gone on a date yet nor said no to a woman, then why would my landlord provide me with quiet during my night rest? I wake up many times at the same moment that my fridge starts rumbling. In fact, that fancy A/C and heating system I mentioned? Sure it keeps me warm and cool. It's wonderful to control the temperature with a touch of a button. But you know, when the machine for air turns on, it should not sound at all like the tank that Brad Pitt sits in, named Fury, when it launches a shell, ok? I know this is hard to believe, but for almost nine years the system would turn on with a loud bang as if a shell exploded and then heat or cool for ten minutes and then another loud bang. The building is fairly new having been built in the 90s so why they chose this abusive system is beyond decent people's wishes. In fact, there are many many things like this wrong but that's another story. And so I kept asking for a new fridge figuring I am worthy of at least quiet. Of at least that which allows me to sit and meditate like my Shaolin Shifu instructed me to do. But while meditating in the lotus position I can feel the floor shaking when the fridge is on. And my landlord still insists it is entirely my fault. I kid you not, the man says it is my fault and not theirs that the fridge is this loud. Even though I know nothing of machinery and nothing of cooling or coolants. In fact now almost a year later I did a Google search and found out that from the single reason my landlord blamed me with there are nineteen others. No wait, there are twenty others, as the reason my landlord gave me makes no sense. In fact, whenever I repeat their reason to others they burst out laughing wondering if the people who run my building are perhaps terrorists or some kind of mentally deviant people.
I suppose if the entire population of TO and the Government of Canada feels that disabled men like me are so worthless that we are not even worth a single pair of glasses in these three decades that I lived here amongst you all, then clearly me complaining about a noise from the fridge is ridiculous. Obviously if I am not worthy of love from any females then I am also going to be harassed until I go mad and strike out and lash out in anger thus causing the leaders to say things like "see he was always crazy it just took a while for us to remove him, good thing none of you had anything to do with him". This is Canada's terrorist game ploy. This is how they play ball. This is their playbook. They pick a person, and then they harass slowly over great periods of time causing all manner of problems in that person's life, using mostly coincidences that outsiders can not easily see and when explained they disagree with being planned. What did my landlord say about my fridge? Well, he came into my apartment, looked inside my fridge, and after a few moments, like an expert said "You put too many things in your freezer sir. You have to leave an inch free of space at the back of the fridge all the time. Otherwise the noise will be loud." I wanted to burst out laughing. If a box of frozen air is designed for me to be able to interfere with its cooling of the contents then why was I not told about this years and years ago when I moved in and began using your frozen box of air? And how is it my fault for not knowing this little secret? In fact, if this is the case, and perhaps was when the first fridgeratorises machinery were invented, why do I have to worry about it after we landed a man on the moon and after XBOX 360 was invented and even XBOX One, too? Three times I asked the landlord about this and three times they kept telling me I have to keep an inch clear at the back of the freezer.
So one day while I was in the elevator, I decided to let them know how cruel they all were. I gave them a thousand dollars a month in rent and the least they could have given me was a peaceful night's rest. So I said while the inch man was near me "Hey there little bitch how is your day?" He did not take too keenly to this. A few days later I got a threat of eviction for being abusive, aggressive, and using threatening voice. Then believe it or not I in fact did get handcuffed and locked away by Toronto Police for an "unrelated" issue. Though clearly these thug-like Canadians with a façade of peacekeeper were so full of cookies and cream that about the only cookies and cream I ever saw was when I lovingly walk past cookies and cream at Shopper's Drug Mart, still unable to purchase a single bar of them. Perhaps this mentality that is prevailant among all of TO's mean populace is the reason why I have never once yet sat at a coffee shop, quite like this Cozy one, somewhere downtown TO, with a female, ever in my whole life and I'm now past forty. This is the bully-culture that lives within the minds and hearts of all Torontonians. And yet none of them are aware of it. It is okay for them to ridicule us disabled people constantly and even take our money whilest giving us nothing of any value and when we complain they give us excuses from five decade ago logic for machinery that the rest of you would urinate on if it were even suggested to be in your homes. And when we even blink the wrong way, you all abusively, like jihadists whom you claim live far off in another another another land across the merry seas, as obviously mean people are never from Canada, you try to eliminate us. But unlike them, those so uncultured evil terrorists always do, you Canadians, none of you ever use violence. You only do that which is legally explainable as valid and justified and positively beneficial to that troublesome individual such as the one swearing for no good reason in the elevator at a man only doing his job. Obviously it is not his fault that my fridge is loud is it? And it could not have anything to do with how rude and abusive he was in his approach, dealings, and other communications while at my front door. I obviously must have exploded vulgarly at him because us disabled people always blame the world, don't we?
Why I knew I was so wrong that right after the lovely fruitcakes of Toronto Police released me, after I admitted to being insane, temporarily, obviously a Canadian never swears, we are that polite, I went to the little bitch and I apologized to him. I sincerely looked him in the eyes and said "I am sorry, I was having a bad day, I am sorry I called you a little bitch. That was really really uncalled for. I will never insult you again (insert privacy_blocked name). I am sorry please forgive me." In fact, I felt so bad about the whole incident that I apologized to him about five times that he asked me to stop apologizing as it was becoming embarrassing.
And yet, nobody from TO ever apologized to me. Because apologies are a sign of weakness. And I am disabled. I am the weakest man in the world folks. And for that I am sorry.
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