Top Memories of the Report . . . The Countdown Continues

7. The Gingerbread Episode

Now, reporters didn't actually work at the Report: we pretty much lived there. I wanted a well-rounded life, and so I was, at one point, teaching a college course and volunteering as a Big Sister as well as writing three articles a week. I was rarely at my own apartment. And so, since no one seemed to care, I allowed the boundaries between home and work to blend. For instance, I once brought my beloved bird "Woody" to the Report (she loved the magazines that covered every wall and landed on one . . . I removed her before she could relieve herself, as she was prone to do). I also regularly brought my Little Sister Michelle in, with the misguided belief that she would see what it was like for a "normal" adult to work at a "normal" job in a "normal" environment.

Little Michelle, streetwise and witty, settled in quite nicely. We celebrated Easter in the office by having an Easter egg hunt, we made slime (I'll admit the carpet was never the same afterwards), and we constructed what was intended to be a gingerbread house.

The other reporters were kind to her. Michelle affectionately called Dave Stevens "Toy Boy," and they shared a love of horror movie characters. We turned out the lights and told ghost stories in his office. And Kevin Steel helped me hide the Easter chocolate for our annual egg hunt. I still recall how he and Dave hid the candy again as soon as Michelle found it. Eventually this little eight-year-old was so frustrated that she stood upon a table with a broomstick in a fit of rage. We were amused. Dear little Michelle.

One of my fondest moments involved the construction of the gingerbread house mentioned earlier. I bought a kit, and Michelle and I made a lovely mess of icing and candy. The walls didn't stick together, but we were having fun. Unfortunately, Michelle had a brutal cold at the time, and the spit would fly with every cough. Many a cough was directed onto the gingerbread. I was gracious, and pretended that I wanted to take my piece home so that I could savour each bite. I suggested, however, that she give Kevin Steel a piece of our finished product. I would warn him later.

Good Kevin. Kind Kevin. Noble Kevin. He smiled at my Little Sister and thanked her, and then took a huge bite. I smiled awkwardly, and my Little Sister, who had no clue about the thousands of germs that had just been transferred into Kevin's system, beamed.

6. "Send to All" 

Forgive me, Linkard, but I would like to share a glorious event that transpired after one of your careless moments. The confidential email outlining the salaries of the reporters was meant to go to a single recipient--not to all the potential recipients.

Let me set the stage: some of the reporters who worked outside of the Edmonton office were slightly competitive. Or perhaps moderately competitive. Okay, fine: they were highly competitive, especially Marnie Ko.

[As an aside, at one point I was given the task of ensuring that writers met their deadlines. It was simple: I would send out an email mocking those who hadn't and praising (to high heaven) those who had. Anger and protests and excuses would abound, but I had their attention. This was, above all, the best task I've ever had to complete. I can't believe I was paid--MONEY!--to do this.]

At any rate, all hell broke loose when the reporters discovered how much their peers were being paid. I don't think I've ever seen Link sweat more, or Kevin Steel smile more (discretely, behind his desk).

5. Kevin Steel's Parties

I was probably the most wide-eyed, naïve person who'd ever set foot in that office. But I learned a great deal from Kevin Steel--and a lot at the parties he held on a frequent basis.

Kevin Steel lived in a great loft next to an artist. We would often head out onto his large flat roof where chairs were set up. Since it was a seedy part of town, I learned about prostitution from an excellent vantage point. The poor women would stand huddled on one corner (that Kevin pointed out, while puffing on a cigarette), and the johns would circle. Kevin could always pick out those cars.

At one point, the characters we were observing noted that we were observing them (we waved in a friendly manner), and moved to another block. But by then, I was a little bit wiser about the ways of the world. Kevin, in turn, was friendly and comfortable with all people, and the poor souls who sold themselves or who spent their time on these rough streets would allow him to photograph them. They were beautiful images.

Kevin's parties, I must say, were fabulous. There was wine, and there were the finest of cheeses, and the best cat you could imagine, and we wasted much of our youth playing highly competitive video games. What fine company! May we one day play again . . .