The smoker's gazebo

The people are cold. They’re huddled underneath the gazebo for warmth, even though the thermometer reads 4˚C. The rough, weathered wood delivers splinters to those who use it for shelter and for this reason, everyone huddles near the middle to avoid leaning on the posts. The ground is covered in concrete that is no longer black but a dark, dirty shade of grey. The buildings in the background are ancient and made of stone. They are painted beige, but are dirty and haven’t been washed since winter started. In the distance, the French flag waves in the wind.

Cigarette smoke curls out from under the wooden structure and drifts up into the sky. Some of the people out there are students, some are teachers. The gazebo always looks like this when school lets out for a smoke break. The murmur of several different conversations makes its way across the schoolyard and echoes in the empty hallways.

There is graffiti on one of the wooden posts. It’s a heart with letters inside, but they are hard to make out because it’s has been there for many years. The lovers have graduated and moved on. Cigarette butts litter the ground inside the structure. There are no garbage bins in sight, so butts are dropped on the ground. The smell of smoke is overwhelming and everyone’s eyes are watering. The wood has absorbed so much smoke over the years that it smells permanently of cigarettes and has been stained yellow.

There are backpacks spread out on the ground in front of the gazebo. One of them has a broken zipper and textbooks are peeking out from inside. There are notebooks laid on the ground belonging to students who don’t carry a bag.

The principal walks out and yells that the break is over. Students and teachers begin heading back into the school and the last few wisps of smoke are absorbed into the atmosphere.  When the people leave and the smoke clears, burn marks on the posts become clear and reveal the abuse this gazebo has endured. When it stands empty it looks frail, as though the years of being ill-treated by smokers have worn down its will to exist.

A naturally terrifying environment

By day, the woods smell damp and mossy. By night, those smells are combined with the scent of predatory animals, sweat and terror.  It’s a smell only exists in those woods and to me it signifies everything evil.

It’s darker in there than anywhere else in the world. Once your eyes adjust you see fallen trees, reaching branches and slight movement out of the corner of your eyes. Off in the distance, you can see a graveyard full of crumbling tombstones and you can’t help but wonder what is hiding in the shadows.

Everything is wet. Even when it doesn’t rain, the ground and trees are slick to the touch. The moisture chills you to the bone no matter how much clothing you’re wearing. As you walk, fallen logs trip you and branches reach out to scratch your arms and snag your hair.

Twigs are snapping all around you. Something howls in the distance. The bugs are the biggest noisemakers in the woods – and their buzzing is foreboding, almost sad. It’s as if they know that you’re lost and hope you make it out of the woods safely.

The air is thick and heavy. It tastes like decay – as if you are inhaling the final breath of all of those fallen trees. It weighs you down and you’re not sure if you’ll make it out.

The smoker's gazebo

The people are cold. They’re huddled underneath the gazebo for warmth, even though the thermometer reads 4˚C. The rough, weathered wood delivers splinters to those who use it for shelter and for this reason, everyone huddles near the middle to avoid leaning on the posts. The ground is covered in concrete that is no longer black but a dark, dirty shade of grey. The buildings in the background are ancient and made of stone. They are painted beige, but are dirty and haven’t been washed since winter started. In the distance, the French flag waves in the wind.

Cigarette smoke curls out from under the wooden structure and drifts up into the sky. Some of the people out there are students, some are teachers. The gazebo always looks like this when school lets out for a smoke break. The murmur of several different conversations makes its way across the schoolyard and echoes in the empty hallways.

There is graffiti on one of the wooden posts. It’s a heart with letters inside, but they are hard to make out because it’s has been there for many years. The lovers have graduated and moved on. Cigarette butts litter the ground inside the structure. There are no garbage bins in sight, so butts are dropped on the ground. The smell of smoke is overwhelming and everyone’s eyes are watering. The wood has absorbed so much smoke over the years that it smells permanently of cigarettes and has been stained yellow.

There are backpacks spread out on the ground in front of the gazebo. One of them has a broken zipper and textbooks are peeking out from inside. There are notebooks laid on the ground belonging to students who don’t carry a bag.

The principal walks out and yells that the break is over. Students and teachers begin heading back into the school and the last few wisps of smoke are absorbed into the atmosphere.  When the people leave and the smoke clears, burn marks on the posts become clear and reveal the abuse this gazebo has endured. When it stands empty it looks frail, as though the years of being ill-treated by smokers have worn down its will to exist.

I am a Superhero Recruiter.

“Oh my god, she’s real!” isn’t a phrase that many people hear when they’re at work. I, however have heard this phrase several times: in the mall, at the ferry terminal, in hospital cafeterias, and in a movie theatre.

My job involves dressing, posing and photographing superheroes. Live ones.

Superheroes are an easy group to work with – eager to please and willing to give up their time for a good cause any day. They don’t even mind when I dress them all in the same pink outfit and ask them to stand on a podium for hours at a time.

Yes indeed – superheroes are a good bunch. No two are alike. I’ve met tall ones and short ones, outgoing ones and shy ones, female ones and male ones. I’ve met some who aren’t sure if they are ready to be a superhero, and some who can’t think of anything better to do.

These superheroes don’t wear spandex, won’t be leaping over any tall buildings, don’t have any special powers (that I know of) and don’t even have their own superhero gear. They have however, joined forces to combat their mutual nemesis: breast cancer.

I find myself constantly amazed at their dedication, good spirits and determination in the face of such a terrifying enemy. I am inspired by their passion and willingness to fight the good fight and at the end of every day, when I pack up their capes and sanitize their masks, I look forward to the next time that I am in their company again.

Recruiting new superheroes is something that is also included in my job description. For these special ventures, I, along with my boss (the Chief Superhero Recruiter) don superhero apparel and visit unsuspecting people who have yet to tap into their inner superhero and have not yet realized their full potential.

The response is overwhelming. How could it not be, with two masked women swooping into a place of employment with information about how to join the ranks of superheroes, fighting for the greater good?

It doesn’t take long for these new recruits to become as engaged and zealous about the quest they have embarked on as their super-colleagues and friends. All communication dispatched from headquarters is received with excitement and readiness to embrace a new task and strengthens their resolve to make a change in the world.

There is an army of superheroes in Nova Scotia, ready to take on anything that breast cancer throws at them. Wherever it lurks, whoever it touches, whenever it tries to run and hide, we will find it, and end it.

I’m honoured to have been accepted into their ranks – and you can too!

Embrace your inner superhero. Join the fight against breast cancer. But move swiftly – time is of the essence. http://www.bustamove.ca/

What matters to me? Growth.

When I found out that I got the job, I started to cry. Not tears of joy, but of anger and frustration. What I thought was going to be an easy, sure-thing process had turned into me going through interview after interview with no luck. I was sure that the co-op office was going to let me down. And, in my mind, they had. The only job that I was offered was located 45 minutes from Halifax and since I had just signed a lease, I would have to commute every day. On top of the extra hour and a half that had been added to my day, the place was a dump. Literally. I was going to work for a landfill. It wasn’t exactly the glamorous ‘PR spokesperson’ role that I had envisioned myself doing.

My first week was awful and my second week was bad. But by the third week, I had started to get over myself and my self-inflicted woes – the job wasn’t so bad and the people were nice for the most part. I didn’t have an office or even a desk, but they gave me the full conference room to work in.

It was a Tuesday, I think, when one of the workers came and offered to show me around the landfill on his lunch break. He figured that it was time that I learned what goes on behind the scenes and what the press releases I was writing were talking about.

I was fascinated. Absolutely fascinated. I had no idea of just how organized and effective landfills could be. The garbage pile smelled like grapes (figure that one out) and the technology was just plain cool. I began to ask questions.

Eventually, I volunteered to drive around and take pictures of the site, the different technology and the environmental measures that were being taken.  If you had asked me a month before if I would ever conduct a photo shoot on top of a mound of garbage, I probably would have said no.

I learned a lot. I learned everything that I was supposed to learn – and a few things that no one expected. I came out with better writing, communication and media relations skills. I know just how compacted garbage needs to be to meet environmental standards. I know about tipping fees and composting. But most importantly, I came out knowing how to make the most of a situation and allow myself to enjoy it. How to let myself grow.

Once I realized that this job wasn’t the end of the world, I began to grow. I can say with complete honesty that this experience changed me and taught me more about life than any other job. I’ve learned to get over myself. That I’m the only thing holding me back and once I let myself enjoy my situation, I’m going to have a ball and learn a lot.

What’s important to me? Growth. And I have a dump to thank for that.

Welcome to the madness that is my life!

How did you come across my blog? Maybe you’re a perspective employer, interested in my writing style. Perhaps, you’re a long-lost friend looking to re-connect. You might be my best friend, neighbour, colleague or significant other. No matter the reason you came to my blog or how you found it, I hope you find what you are looking for!

I do many things. I read, I bake, I watch television on my computer, I pretend to enjoy working out… and I’ve recently become fond of blogging. I operate a blog under the same name at meaghank2011.wordpress.com - where I muse about life, the universe, and anything that strikes me as interesting. Here, you will find some of my academic writing.  

I’m in my fourth and final year of Public Relations at Mount Saint Vincent University.  I work for the QEII Foundation, where I am the Marketing and Events Assistant for Bust a Move for Breast Health. If you are looking for something to do on March 26, 2011 or have some money you're looking to get rid of – join or sponsor my team, Breastivus for the Rest of Us!

I’m about to be spit into the real world and while I'm developing a real love for the world of events, I'm not sure of my five-year plan or where I'll be when I’m thirty. I think that is the beauty of the world today. I don’t have to know. No one does.

It is a changing world that we are moving into, a world that is simultaneously growing and shrinking every day. For those of you who aren’t sure what I mean, check out this link. Some people call it scary – I call it hopeful. I think that the world is becoming a better place each day and we are lucky to be here to see it happen.

As with my other blog, I’m making it a personal goal to update this blog once weekly, despite the madness that is my life. I hope you will re-visit and leave comments if I mention something that strikes home.

Cheers!