VII       A Handy Person To Have Around

            It was starting off just like any day really.  He was having trouble finding volunteers who could get there on time, he had a thousand jobs to finish and on top of everything, he needed someone to go do a pick-up of food for the Food Bank.  Gary was used to this, being stressed out at work, but last night, he was looking over the bills and it was becoming desperate that he get a roommate.  Hopefully, that guy named Byron from the pet store would fall in love with the place and take the room.  He really needed a little sanity in his life.

            Staring out over the corner of Carlton and Church, he was a prime witness for the beautiful weather of the day.  A tinge of cloud, a little bit of breeze, but on the whole it was a very sunny and warm August day.  He longed to just step outside of his office, even for a split second, but there was so much work to do.  The People With AIDS foundation didn’t operate purely on the goodness of its heart.  It needed people like Gary to keep it going and he did a pretty good job with the organization.  He was loved by all of the staff, not because he was nice, but because he was fair, sensible, maybe sometimes a wee bit naïve when it came to the kindness of strangers.  So what was one bad trait amongst a lot of really good ones?

            However, the minute that Claude walked into his office though, he knew that he was far from loved at this minute.  “Have you found a new person to man the food bank?  I can’t keep up with two jobs at once here.  We really need someone pronto.”

            “I’m sorry, Claude.  It wasn’t on my mind today.  Has the ad in the newspaper or the ones online not picked up anybody worth hiring?”

            Plopping down in the semi-comfortable chair on the opposing side of the desk, Claude slumped into a state of frustration.  His eyes darted around the room like a squirrel waiting for the next vehicle to run him over.  At 35, Claude should still be a man of constant energy and vigour, but today he looked like a train wreck, balding in front of Gary’s eyes, his eyesight failing as he breathed in each breath.  “Nothing!  It’s crazy this city.  For a place that has five million people in it, there is not one person who I would want to hire that has submitted a resume.  All I’ve been able to see are a whole bunch of old queens trying to switch from the life of their drugged out dancing days.”

            “Well that’s a little cynical, isn’t it?  Maybe we need to look for someone within the volunteer community we have for options.”

            “There’s no one here that can do it.  There is no one who wants to commit to helping us out.  You have to do something.”

            As the director of PWA, Gary has had his share of battles and making his decisions like this, but he can see that unless he finds someone fast, Claude will have a coronary.  “Okay let me make this the priority of the day, Claude.  I’ll get on it right now.”

            “Thanks, Gary.  I really need this.”

            As Claude leaves his office, Gary is left with the lingering thought that maybe he’ll have to do the job, but of course reality rears its sometimes ugly, but sometimes accurate head and tells him that he is a very stupid man to think that.  Looking back out the window, he tries to find the answers, but instead just sees one of the afternoon drunks stumbling out of the bar across the street.  Is this what he has to choose from, the “old queens from the drugged out dancing days”, that Claude calls them?  Sometimes he wonders about the status of the gay community, whether it has the legs to survive another revolution.  It’s not that Gary was active during the last one, but there seems to be no fight left for the people to involve themselves in.  They all think AIDS is over, that all their rights are secure, that the world is a safe and beautiful place without conflict.  Sometimes he wonders what there is left to do.

            A knock at the door catches his attention and standing there is a woman, middle aged, long brown hair to her shoulders, wearing green khakis, work boots, blouse with a hunting vest over top and a John Deere cap gracing her head.  “I’m sorry for bugging you, but the receptionist ran off before I could ask any questions.  Something about a fashion emergency that couldn’t be helped.  Not sure if that was me, but ahn.  I was just looking for someone to help with a volunteer application.”

            Gary was kind of caught by her garb, but somehow her “no nonsense” approach of talking was appealing.   “Sure I can help you.  My name is Gary.  Where did you wanting to help out?  We have a number of groups that need volunteers.”

            “Well, I’m not too good with the psychology thing.  More of a work horse type of gal.  I can lift pretty much anything.”

            “Well actually I do have a job I need done.  Immediately actually.  Picking up food for the food bank, a few stops if you have a car.”

            “Does a Ford truck help?”

            “Is the pope Catholic?  Wow thanks that would a great help to me.  I have a guy doing too many jobs and losing his mind right now.  He’s having trouble keeping watch on the food bank.”

            “Well awesome, I can grab that for you.  Is this something that I can do often?  I have a far amount of spare time on my hands.  New to the city, transplanted from Guelph, found a pretty young thing to shack up with here.  It’ll keep me busy while I look for a job.”

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t grab your name.”

            “Yeah.  My name’s Handy.”

            “Well Handy, how would you like it I gave you a job?  If you can live up to your name, we’re both going to be in luck.”