On the long list of things I either want or need, a high-end baby stroller appears nowhere.
And yet, I was positively beside myself when, in October, I peeled a McDonald’s Monopoly game piece and instantly won a luxurious baby carriage.
I would have preferred cash, or a new car, but a win is a win, and the Graco Modes Adventure Stroller Wagon is among the very best high-end strollers on the market (thanks, Google).
As I racked my brain to answer the enigmatic skill-testing question, I imagined the envious looks of the parents on the Valley Trail as I pushed my little Cadillac to and fro.
That I am single and childless is beside the point, I told myself. Those other (actual) parents won’t know that—they’ll be too blinded by their envy to realize my stroller is actually full of skunk cabbage.
The BEDMAS of the skill-tester conquered, I sat back and let my imagination run wild with possibility for a moment or two, and then forgot about the stroller entirely.
I was reminded of it recently only by its continued absence.
Oh well, I decided. Easy come, easy go.
That might have been the end of this fascinating and essential story if not for World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) Smackdown and a financial injustice at a Granville Street sports bar (stay with me here).
The pub itself was bland and boring, and former Pique reporter Brandon Barrett and I only wandered in because of the sign advertising a 20-per-cent discount with proof of sporting event or concert at Rogers Arena.
We showed our server our ticket stubs from Smackdown (“Oh… WWE,” she said, as she fought with every ounce of willpower to keep her eyes from rolling into the back of her skull).
“Ah yes, the Virgin Convention down at Rogers Arena. Not sure that counts as a sporting event, fellas, but we’ll see about that discount.”
When the bills came, full priced, I considered pressing the issue… and then just didn’t.
Instead, I followed the familiar path of least resistance all the way back up the highway to Whistler, where the next morning I sat and stewed about the forgotten discount.
The money itself is minor in the grand scheme of things, but highlights for me a longstanding, repeating pattern of confrontation avoidance—and all the ways our lives could be better if we only spoke up a little louder every now and then for what we want or need.
We see it playing out in Whistler, and council chambers across the country, in the form of NIMBYism.
There’s a very simple reason NIMBYs get a bad rap: their tactics work.
They advocate loudly, specifically, and over long stretches, often targeting those elected officials or board members who can help their cause.
They organize letter-writing campaigns and show up en masse to council to defend their interests. And, in many cases, they get what they want. Because the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
Compare that to Whistler’s young, “transient” worker population. With its in-and-out, revolving-door nature, and with no proper council representation, the voices and needs of young workers are often reduced to a footnote at the end of municipal staff reports.
That’s not to say municipal officials don’t notice or care about them; just that in the absence of someone (or multiple people) forcing the issues on a regular basis, measures to help Whistler workers appear to amount to little more than lip service, in most cases.
Who tops the list of priorities? The deep-pocketed developer actively engaging on its project; the local, organized non-profits desperately in need of support; the NIMBYs and their views and property values; the general taxpaying homeowner; the tourist and their vacation; and even the persistent letter writer.
Way down there at the bottom is the seasonal worker, who is only here for a year or two, and doesn’t have any time for or interest in local politics.
And why should they? Young people don’t come here to affect change; they come to have a good time. They put up with some bullshit, and in exchange they get the luxury of living in Whistler and skiing as much as their hearts desire. Fair trade, right?
The sad reality is that while they’re here, they are often exploited, forced to live in cramped quarters, working multiple jobs to pay the downright inhumane rent landlords in Whistler apparently feel no shame in asking. Yes, it’s always been like that. No, that doesn’t mean we should just shut up and accept it.
But if nobody ever says anything, or forces the relevant issues, nothing will ever get better for Whistler workers.
Because if you don’t advocate for yourself, who will?
My flubbed discount in a Vancouver sports bar dredged up a dozen or more different ways I could have spoken up for myself in the past, but didn’t—and I soon grew very bitter about the missing luxury stroller I have no use for.
And then, I did something rare: I shushed the inner voices telling me to just cut my losses and let another one go, and I acted. I found a photo of the winning game piece. I tracked down a contact with McDonald’s Canada. I stated my case, politely but firmly.
And the next morning, I got an email from Purolator, informing me a shipment was created in my name.
Vindication.
By the time you read this, I will be the proud new owner of a very fine piece of infant transportation—a symbol of my own self-advocacy, and a reminder to not be such a pushover all the time.
I still don’t have anything to put in it other than my skunk cabbage… but a moral victory is still a victory.
