Village Squire, 1980-11, Page 29ONE DAY AT A TIME
Jim Hagarty is a 29 year old staff reporter
with The Beacon Herald in Stratford. He is
the former editor of The Mitchell Advocate
and wrote a weekly column in that
newspaper for the past three years.
Responses to his column are welcomed and
am be forwarded to The Village Squire or
to Mr. Hagarty, Box 456, Mitchell.
Big things
don't bother me
--just the little things
Big things don't bother me much, as a
rule.
Years ago I was driving to Exeter on a
Sunday night when my dear old Chevy
blew up! Right there on the highway!
But, as I say, that tragedy (and tragic it
was for I'd grown very close to old Betsy,
as I called her) hardly bothered me at all.
Oh well, she'd given me a lot of good
miles, I philosophically explained to
sympathizing friends. Besides, these
things happen, I suggested calmly. And
by dying suddenly, old Betsy had spared
me a lot of money I might have pumped
into her to keep her breathing.
Then there was the time. right out of
the blue, when I opened up a neatly -
typed two -paragraph letter from a school
board I was working for, suggesting they
might be able - tough as it would be - to
keep their high school operating without
the significant contribution I was making.
I set the letter down on the counter, made
myself a coffee, and quietly proceeded to
neatly type a two -paragraph letter back to
the school board, thanking them for
giving me the opportunity to get my
teaching feet wet.
And, once again, 1 met that catastrophe
with every bit as much serenity as Pierre
Trudeau displayed when he recieved the
news that he'd just lost the 1979 election.
I've lost better jobs than that one,
I peacefully informed friends who
consoled me. Something else will turn up.
As you can imagine, my friends have
often drawn much courage from my
numerous shining examples of steadiness
in the face of disaster.
I'm just glad they weren't around to see
me on Tuesday.
I usually eat lunch at a restaurant
across the street from work, but on
Tuesday, all the other reporters were
away from the office so I was on my own.
Actually, I welcomed the opportunity to
try out one of the "super subs" at the
little submarine sandwich outlet just
down the street. Next to afternoon naps
and Macleans magazine, submarine
sandwiches are among the things I enjoy
most. At one time, I literally lived to eat
pizza, but I fear I wolfed down one large
deluxe too many and have, never since,
been too fond of them.
But I can't see how it could be
possible for anyone to ever tire of
submarines. And if I ever again get
another neatly -typed two -paragraph
letter in the mail, I'll place applications
for work right away in every sub shop in
Ontario.
But that isn't what 1 started out to tell
you.
The girl behind the counter politely
took my order, especially the part where I
commanded, "No onions! Make sure you
leave off the onions!" She wrote that
down.
And for the next two minutes, I stood
ravenously watching from the other side
of the counter as she carefully laid out
strips of cheese, spice loaf, cooked ham,
slices of tomato - ripe red and juicy - and
a sprinkling of grated lettuce on the
bottom half of a fat sesame seed bun.
That's the great thing about submarine
outlets. You can watch the whole lovely
affair being manufactured.
I counted out the $2.70 in change that
I'd been given the night before in
exchange for some empty pop bottles at
the variety store, and was ceremoniously
handed my piping hot purchase. I strode
happily outside to an empty sidewalk
bench under a streetside tree.
Stratford has one of the most beautiful
downtowns around and sitting on a bench
on a warm sunny day in October with a
submarine in one hand and a carton of
cold white milk in the other, makes a man
glad to be alive.
"It's good to be alive," 1 smiled to
myself as I bit happily into one end of my
dinner.
At that moment, a bee - one of those
wasps everybody calls a yellow jacket --
landed hungrily on the other end of my
sandwich.
Someday I'll tell you all about what
happened to me when I was five years old
to make me fear all bees of any
description so irrationally, but for now,
you'll have to take my word for it. I can't
stand bees. Especially hungry ones that
like submarines.
In a vigorous effort to escape the threat
from the little, yellow intruder, my
sandwich slipped from my hands smack
onto the ground beneath the tree.
Unaccustomed as 1 am to swearing, I
managed to yell out a few oaths I once
heard in a movie and looked up out of the
corner of my eye to see two prim, and
disapproving ladies, walking by at that
very instant.
"A bee did it," 1 explained, unconvinc-
ingly.
Neither lady looked as though she'd
drawn much courage from my example.
So I went back to the office and sulkingly
read through the morning paper.
Yesterday's Things
• Antiques • Nostalgia
We buy & sell
• Vintage Clothing •
40's & prior
Chapter Two
Used Book Shop
"Snuggle up with
a good book this
winter."
• Pocket book exchange •
Yesterday's Things
Tues. - Sat. 10:30-5:30
Wed. & Thurs. till 9:00
351 Ontario St.
STRATFORD (519) 271-5180
VILLAGE SQUIRE/NOVEMBER 1980 PG. 27