The ovation

District tour. The words struck fear into the heart of a Hudson’s Bay clerk. The district tour was the semiannual time for the big boys to visit the chaps out in the trenches. We imagined them descending from ivory towers in the clouds to join us muddy footed peons at the front lines. The tour was their chance to see if we were toeing the line. Now I may be biased; but I feel we were toeing the company line. Whether they would have seen it that way depends on where in the sand you think that the line is drawn. We worked hard. Long hours in trying conditions. Doing stock checks and inventory in unheated warehouses for hours on end at minus fifty five. It was mind numbing work at hand numbing temperatures. Unloading freight planes on windy winter runways. Going home to ancient housing where the furnace worked when it felt like it. Putting up with power failures and brown outs; being eaten by flies; while you were working indoors! They; of course saw none of this. To them we spent the days skylarking; young slackers wet behind the ears. Not like in their days when it was ten miles to work; uphill both ways; blah, blah, blah…
Now of course while we were doing all this; unloading planes, putting together snowmobiles, bikes and BBQs. Delivering sofas to houses with doors too small to get them through. Carrying refrigerators up two flights of stairs that hadn’t seen a snow shovel all season. Doing all this in dress slacks, dress shirts and a smart tie. At least according to protocol. In fact; the first day on the job I had my best dress shirt practically torn off my back by a swinging door in the grocery department that had a jagged piece of sheet metal covering it. On another occasion the door tore the shoe off my foot. All I was left with was the laces tied round my ankle. The District Manager had been partly responsible for letting the door go when I had an eighty pound television in my hands. He did tell me to go charge out a new pair as it was the only pair I owned. I was making the princely sum of $10,500.00 per annum. No we were supposed to buy fur and mop floors in a shirt and tie. You know from the way I said it that we bloody well didn’t. But here’s a trick. Taught me by a canny older Manager whom I held in some esteem. You do wear a shirt and tie occasionally, randomly not every day; but perhaps on a day when you are not busy. You do it for a reason. You do it so the customers see you in them often enough that they do not walk up in the middle of district tour; in full earshot of the high and mighty and say “What the hell is that around your neck? Are the bosses in town or something?” Nothing changes the demeanor of a tour like such an event. Hours of waxing floors and filing paper can be flushed away in a minute by so hap hazard a remark. You must; in life, endeavor to learn from the mistakes of others so you do not have to suffer the feel of the lash yourself. The lash I refer to is not literal; but rather apocryphal. Although I have heard rumors…
You must remember that the Hudson’s Bay Company (or to be precise: The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into the Hudson’s Bay) has a long and storied history. With that history comes a lot of baggage. Bags and more musty old bags full of traditions; protocols and precedents. The managers ate on red chine, the clerks on blue. You couldn’t fly the company coat of arms unless the Governor had visited your post. There were many rules going back into dusty antiquity. The district tour was no exception. There was a definite pecking order to these things. The lead would be taken by the Vice President, who was to be referred to by the affectionate moniker of “Mr. Vice President”. Next would be the General Manager who could alternately be referred to as “Mr. General Manager” as his wife did; or Mr. Insert last name here. The District Manager was likewise referred to as Mr. So & So. Then came the Store Manager; in those days a position of some importance and respect in the eyes of the locals but not in the eyes of head office to whom you were just Ralph or Peter or whatever. Me; I was at the bottom of the pecking order and was generally not referred to at all. Now there is a saying in plumbing; stuff runs downhill and pay day’s on Friday. Believe me the stuff really does run downhill.
The V.P.: as I will call him to save time, would turn to the G.M. as I will call him to save time and say “Wah Wah Wah.” (just think of it like the muted trombone sound from a Charlie Brown cartoon). Then the G.M. turns to the D.M. as I will call him to save time, and says (even though we all heard the V.P. as we are all five feet away) “Wah Wah Wah!” . The D.M. turns to the S.M. as I will call him to save time; and says “Wah Wah Wah!!” (Even though we already heard the V.P. tell the G.M. and the G.M. tell the D.M.)Then the S.M. turns to me whom I shall call me to save time and to protect the innocent; and says “Wah Wah Wah!!!” Even though we already heard the V.P. tell the G.M. and the G.M. tell the D.M. and the D.M. tell the S.M.) I then turn around and as there is no one lower than me on the totem pole I say nothing. There you have now experienced a District Tour of The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England Trading into the Hudson’s Bay whom I will call the H.B.C. to save time.
Now I remember one particular time when we were being graced with the presence of the V.P. on a district tour. Some days prior to the tour starting the D.M. (not to be confused with the G.M. or the S.M.) was visiting the store on routine business. We had an elderly gentleman who ran the gas station. It was the perfect job for an elderly gentleman. The hours were short and the pace was slow. Now I should give you a little background on this gas station. If you were thinking concrete with a roof and fancy pumps; forget it. The gas station was a flat space in front of a fenced tank farm. It featured a tiny shed big enough for a cash register and some oil. Inside that shed on any given afternoon were half a dozen elders. They sat on cases of oil and smoked (yes smoked) and played cards. The number of cases of oil on inventory in that shed had everything to do with the number of men playing cards and nothing whatsoever to do with sales. Around this on all sides was a morass of mud. Wheel ruts more than a foot deep carved through it. In spring and fall only the bravest or most fool hardy ventured in there on wheels. Most sensible folk carried gas cans in and filled their rides themselves. Silas our venerable old gas man frequently wore hip waders to work at this time of year. Oddly no one complained. It was how things had always been done. Now that evening when the D.M. saw Silas making his way into the back door of the store with his cash drawer to make his closing deposit he thought he would lift Silas’ spirits with the words he was most likely to want to hear. “We will be here next week for District tour!” The D.M. piped cheerily. Stony silence greeted him. “Don’t forget to dress for the occasion!” The D.M. meant it as a joke. But it is hard sometimes to frame a joke when you lack one crucial ingredient; a sense of humor. Silas turned in his deposit and left without a word.
On the appointed day the V.P. the G.M. and the D.M. arrived in the morning. They did the usual tour of the facilities. When we were ready to tour the outside of the property we filed out V.P. followed by G.M. followed by D.M. followed by S.M. followed by me. When we got there we were greeted by a sight that none of us would ever forget. There was Silas; all six foot four of him resplendent in a three piece blue serge suit with white pinstripes. A gold watch chain draped from vest pocket to vest pocket. On his head was a black homburg hat. On his legs was a pair of filthy green hip waders! He was slogging through the mud with a full Gerry can of gas in each hand. The suit on closer inspection smelled of camphor and I fancied I could see the bulge of a couple of mothballs in the breast pocket. I fancy that it was his demob (short for demobilization) suit that was given each vet when the returned to civilian life after the war. What could they do? The V.P. stood without so much as a “Wah Wah Wah!” He in his blazer and tie was totally outclassed. Silas would not have looked out of place on the cover of Gentleman’s Quarterly (albeit the 1946 edition). He was a magnificent sight. With his erect posture and grey temples he looked like a bank manager (from the waist up). Then the strangest thing happened. The V.P. looked at the G.M. and began to clap his hands. The G.M. looked at the D.M. and although the D.M. could hear the V.P. he too began to clap. The D.M. turned to the S.M. and although he could hear the V.P. and the G.M. he too began to clap. Then the S.M. turned to me and although I too could hear the V.P. and the G.M. and the D.M. he too began to clap. As there was no one else to look at and as the V.P. and the G.M. and the D.M. and the S.M. were standing there clapping I made it unanimous. Silas got the first standing ovation in the long and now even more storied history of the Governor and Company of Adventurers of England Trading into the Hudson’s Bay.