Talkin' to the Neighbours

Well, you never know, but...

Yeah, I’m a kid who grew up on 16mm NFB at school. And film strips.

One of the things that I love about Nova Scotia, or at least the South Shore, is that people aren’t afraid to talk to each other. Any time, and place, any subject, they’ll just strike up a conversation without hesitation.

And if you’re half-ways smart you’ll adopt the same habit.

Two weeks ago I was in line at Bridgewater Canadian Tire to purchase a live trap to catch our ermine. I arrived at the line for the checkouts, and there were four or five people patiently waiting to pay. And of course, one cashier.

I notice a pair of abandoned self-serve checkouts to one side. I’d been to this store before, but they just never registered, probably because I had never seen anyone using them. I was in a rush, so I stepped up and scanned the cage.

And heard, over my shoulder…

“Make sure you get invited to the Christmas Party.” And then, “…and if you’re a good employee maybe they’ll add you to the pension plan.”

My immediate thought was that for the first time a very long while I was in a union town. The point being made, of course, is that if I’m ringing up my purchases I’m also eliminating a job for a Canadian Tire employee.

But their most likely employer is Michelin, which is described on-line as follows:

“ … the largest private employer (in NS) and operates three manufacturing facilities in Pictou County, the Annapolis Valley and on the South Shore.”

They’re probably the biggest employer in Bridgewater, and have been successfully anti-union, so maybe it was just a couple of hold-outs from the last organising drive.

In any event, no argument, and I’ll avoid self checkouts in Bridgewater specifically, and elsewhere as I find them.

I’m sure that if I hadn’t left we would have talked for the five minutes or so that they were lined-up, and would have found agreement on a lot of subjects - especially how companies like Canadian Tire are lousy employers.

A few days later I found myself lined up to pay for a tank of gas at out local Liverpool Shell station. (For some reason I find Shell somewhat less morally objectionable than the omni-present Irving clan. I may be mistaken, but that’s how it is.)

(Note for BC readers: yes, in Nova Scotia you can still drive up, pump your gas, and then wander inside to pay.)

A young woman, late teens or early 20s was behind the till. In front of her was an older woman, maybe late 30s, and they were chatting away. I was listening with one ear, when I heard the older woman ask:

“Who was that new black boy you have working here? He’s just gorgeous!”

The South Shore is, by any measure, populated by white folks. There have always been small pockets of black communities, but the reality is that Nova Scotia is a pretty white place.

What struck me about that exchange was that a middle aged white woman, and an obvious local, felt fine in talking about how attractive the new “black boy” was to her. Her comfort at expressing that, and the apparent complete lack of race-consciousness, impressed me. It didn’t matter that he was black; it was just a descriptor like “blonde” or “tall.”

(Note: the “black boy” likely was in his teens, so I can accept “boy” as a descriptive.)

The final conversation was this week, while waiting for a doctor at the Queens General Hospital. The woman sitting on the gurney beside me just started chatting.

By the time that I had seen the doctor I knew that she was a retired nurse, specifically a retired itinerant nurse who travelled up and down this part of the province, that she knew many hospitals, and many doctors, and that she was none too impressed with the current state of Nova Scotia health care.

And she was annoyed that simple prescription renewal involved sitting in the hospital for an hour when it should be possible to do it in five minutes on the phone or Zoom.

I think, but I may just be imagining it, that I also was told the names and ages of her children….

The point of these stories is that it’s possible to learn how to lose that caution and guile that you see elsewhere; to learn to trust people enough to just relax, chat, and share your stories with them. And to realize that they’ll actually listen, without judgement, and without acting offended.

In other words, it’s place where you can relax and just be person without putting on a grand mask to hide yourself.