Canada Post, Purolator & Power:

a witness account of helplessness conquered!

There’s a lot in the world that isn’t right these days. We witness, via the power of news networks, the horrors of wars that simply shouldn’t be happening but go on and on. We watch the nations of the “free” world stand by, while atrocities continue. We witness the re-election of a President who defies all decency, yet clearly appeals to a scary majority. We witness so many things over which we have zero control, but they go on and on. This is what it is to be human. To be human is to imagine control over a world in which, truly, we are mostly helpless.

So, when Canada Post decided to go on strike mere weeks before Christmas, holding a mercantile concept of Christmas hostage, bringing consumerist notions of mail-order gift-giving to its knees, and Purolator has to cry cree¹ from delivery-demand overload in the midst of a week-long cold system dumping us with snow, helplessness takes on new meaning. It is like (being human)x(being human) or being human squared for the less mathematically inclined amongst us.

Add to this the layer of living in Tobermory, where so many things are at least an hour and half drive away. And you’ve spent a week shoveling snow (or repairing your snow blower that has become a mouse house during the unused season) under mostly grey skies. Add on top, customer service that is by telephone, with long waits and nobody taking accountability - it’s Canada Post’ fault, it’s Purolator’s fault, it’s out of our hands. In a year when the tourist business has been less than stellar, for a lovely couple whose livelihood depends upon tourists coming to stay at the beautiful Orange Bicycle Bed and Breakfast²:

Helplessness becomes HELPLESSNESS.

First world problems, you may say. But regardless of whether your house is a mansion or a shack, termites eating away at the foundation are damaging and harmful. The feeling of vulnerability is bordering on unbearable: when will this house, this nation, this world come crashing down upon our ears?

Nick and Neda who run the Orange Bicycle have become my adopted family here in Tobermory. To be more accurate, they have adopted me. Nick’s carpentry skills have saved me feeling totally helpless. His jokes and hugs and particular gift at making cartoon sounds makes me laugh no matter how down I may be. Neda’s colourful outfits and hand made jewelry, her home made soup when I had COVID recently, her home baked baklava - these are some of the visuals and taste sensations of family here.

This past week, I was anxiously nursing a sick dog, and they were anxiously awaiting a very time-sensitive delivery from Purolator, who have been overloaded due to the Canada Post strike. Purolator came through the neighbourhood for a few days, but left without delivering their package - maybe because of the weather, maybe because they’ve been overloaded. Things came to a head on Thursday for all of us. I had to take Parkie to Owen Sound - hoping his vet could help with his pain. Neda has been watching from her dining room and kitchen window for Purolator, going nuts trying to make sure their delivery doesn’t timeout.

Nick has been trying to survive all the stress and clear the snow so Purolator can get in, while mice have made nests in the snowblower! And I am driving back up to north, after a heartbreaking visit with the vet. Nick and I planned to walk - because we share the joy of being victims (sorry, ahem, clients) of Keim, the scariest trainer north of the checkerboard. When Keim asks if we’ve got our steps in (since we haven’t been to the gym), we need to say yes, or down on our heads comes the wrath of Keim³. So I check my messages to confirm a walk time, as I stop for gas in Ferndale (because a certain gas station in Tobermory can never be trusted to be open, and you don’t want to call CAA for gas in bad weather, been there, done that, have my own jerrycans now to show for it).

“Can you stop the purolator truck if you see him? He didn’t stop at our place and went south! I’m beyond frustrated!” Neda has texted.

And I literally duck in my car as I read this, because I passed Purolator as I was heading north, and smiled thinking “Goody, Nick and Neda got their package!”

Nick has also texted, regarding the walk we planned: “Maybe a short one if Neda doesn’t kill me first.”

Parkie was in too much pain on Thursday night for me to check in with Neda, but on Friday I stopped in. We are like sisters from different mothers. I know this is not about a Purolator delivery at all. This is about the very human experience of feeling helpless - helpless over so many things in our lives, in our communities, in our world. And when we feel overwhelmed by helpless feelings, the smallest thing can break us down, make us feel crazy. Whether it is the pain of a pup or the passing of Purolator without package drop off!

I’m overwhelmed. She’s overwhelmed. Parkie’s overwhelmed. Nick is trying not to get chewed on by all of us! Parkie is settled in his apartment in the back seat of my car, medicated to the hilt, a tummy full of chicken wieners: his preferred instrument of medication consumption. And we watch Purolator pass the house going north. By now, Neda knows how long it should take before the truck returns on the southbound journey (she’s been timing them for a few days!) And after we have all cursed a blue streak at Purolator, the Canada Post strike, US elections, colonization, wars, and all manner of other ills of the world, I suggest, let’s go wait outside for Purolator, so they know we are home.

For context, it is sub-zero, heavy snow still on the ground. The sky is deep grey, quite ominous, apocalyptic even. Neda goes and changes into warm outdoor clothes, Neda-style: bright flannel pants, a heavy coat, a sequinned santa hat (which I am assured is warm) and a flashing necklace of Christmas lights. Nick brings an eye-catching fluorescent pink Garage Sale sign (you make do in circumstances like this). And we go out. We are now walking up and down between their gate and Highway six. Nick, who was out in the cold way before we all decided to go out (fighting mice condos in snowblowers), goes back indoors. Neda and I continue the vigil.

Something happens while we are out there. It has nothing to do with the package being delivered. It has to do with being together on this vigil. It has to do with fellowship, with solidarity, with knowing that we do not struggle alone. There is a turn in the feeling from helplessness and the turn happens in friendship, in community. Even Parker feels it - he is not alone as he watches us from the shelter of the car.

As the cold gets to us, I suggest we dance. Neda turns on some music on her phone and now we are dancing to keep warm. Before we know it we are laughing. People stop to talk with us. They wave and smile. On a grey winter-driving day, this is no small feat. The sky opens up - blue sky we haven’t seen for a while suddenly joins us in a winking conspiracy.

Helpless is as helpless does.

We are living witnesses: friendship and activation are the kryptonite of helplessness. Friendship and activation generate joy and laughter - and these are infectious too plus.

To be honest, I wasn’t quite wearing the right boots for this kind of outdoor activity. When my toes begin to go numb, and the timing for the truck to pass back going south is drawing nearer and nearer, Neda suggests maybe I should wait in the car. I say, let me turn the car, so we can give chase if needed (not actually thinking we will need to).

And I have just turned the car into position, Neda jumps in to keep warm too when lo, without even a slowing down in our direction, southward speeds the ruddy Purolator truck!

Neda jumps out, trying to get his attention, but he casts not a glance in our direction, not a flash of a brakelight.

“Get back in!” I say to Neda, “Let’s go!” and she jumps right back in and we are off. Down highway six. Chasing the Purolator truck! Lights flashing, horn beeping. Does he slow down? Not a rhaatid!⁴ But put an Iranian and a Sri Lankan Jamaican together with a heavily medicated beagle in the backseat - two brown naturalized Canadian women in solidarity over helplessness will not be outdone! We persist.

Neda texts Nick to send a photo of her ID, and the info they need to retrieve the package. We are women of faith. We will conquer! Horn blowing increases. I begin flashing my lights in morse code:

SOS.

S O S.

SOS.

Neda has started waving her hand out the open window. We draw closer to the truck as I wonder if we will have to amputate Neda’s fingers for frostbite as she waves her unmittened paw out the window - it was cold even without the windchill caused by exceeding the speed limit!

10 km, almost to Lonewolf! Before he finally slows down. Pulls over. Stops. His name is Luke. It is his first day on this route. Neda explains the situation, and Luke takes her seriously (despite the sequinned santa hat and the flashing Christmas light necklace she has on). It is all very civilized. We get the packages. Driving down to Lonewolf to turn around safely on the very snowy road.

So many lessons from this experience! But the distillate I think is this:

As helpless as we may feel over so much in the world, friendship and activation are the tools to keep us moving forward in hope. Friendship is medicine for these times, and with the love that is between us, we are more than conquerers.

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1. https://jamaicanpatwah.com/term/Cry-cree/5816

2. https://www.orangebicyclebnb.com/

3. https://www.facebook.com/Keim.1upfitness/

4. https://jamaicanpatwah.com/term/Rhaatid/1076