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Post by Stylin' Kyle Roberts [REBEL] on May 14, 2006 13:28:14 GMT -5
Back in 2000, I had just graduated from Journalism school. After a month of looking for work, I found a job at a paper in a small town called Redwater, located about 45 minutes north of Edmonton. (Well, 45 minute commute for me, who lives in the middle of Edmonton.)
Since there was the Edmonton paper, the Redwater Review was a weekly that wanted to capitalize on the local aspect. Which meant a lot of "Billy's a 10-year old cow rancher!" sort of stories. Now what I wanted to report upon. It was a chore finding news, since I didn't know where to look, and I had a good 200 km radius in which to find news.
So I'd go to a lot of town council meetings for towns that have maybe 500-1000 people living there.
The last week of my job (I lasted for three weeks before quitting) had me work a twelve hour day, where I had to be in one town for an 8:00 am town meeting, and had to go to Mundare for a 7 pm meeting.
This was 2000, and so the federal and provincial governments were giving out grants to towns for millennium projects. So Mundare, which is the site of a large Ukranian sausage factory, decided to build a large statue of, yes, sausage.
I go to this meeting, and I find that the town council is made up of primarily old Ukranian men who have very strong opinions. Also, the mayor of town was the owner of the sausage processing plant. So, because he was directly involved in such a thing, he excused himself from the part of the meeting deciding how much the town of Mundare should donate to the cause.
Now I had worked a good twelve hours, driving everywhere to find stories, and the fact that three people were arguing over how much money a giant sausage should get really started to irk me. In my mind, I was yelling "Shut up! Shutup shutup! I want to go home, which is an hour drive, and you people are arguing over sausage!"
One old man talked about how awesome the sausage factory was. "I got to Reno every few months, and as soon as I get off the plane and someone asks me where I'm from, I tell them 'Mundare, Alberta.' And they say 'Oh, where Stawinchy Sausage is made from!' True story!
"Let's face it, some towns would kill for our sausage factory! They'd put up TEN sausage statues if it meant that the factory would move to there!"
After a ten minute rant by this guy, I, as the only other person in this room, wanted to stand up and say, "Kyle Jago, Redwater Review. Look, here's an idea: Let's just forget the symbolism. How about you erect this enormous statue of a penis and get it over with?"
I didn't. But I did quit the job a few days later.
So while I've never seen the Mundare giant sausage up close (although my friend Jean has, hence the link), I curse its existence every time I hear about it. Even though it makes for a very awesome "worst job ever" story.
Since there was the Edmonton paper, the Redwater Review was a weekly that wanted to capitalize on the local aspect. Which meant a lot of "Billy's a 10-year old cow rancher!" sort of stories. Now what I wanted to report upon. It was a chore finding news, since I didn't know where to look, and I had a good 200 km radius in which to find news.
So I'd go to a lot of town council meetings for towns that have maybe 500-1000 people living there.
The last week of my job (I lasted for three weeks before quitting) had me work a twelve hour day, where I had to be in one town for an 8:00 am town meeting, and had to go to Mundare for a 7 pm meeting.
This was 2000, and so the federal and provincial governments were giving out grants to towns for millennium projects. So Mundare, which is the site of a large Ukranian sausage factory, decided to build a large statue of, yes, sausage.
I go to this meeting, and I find that the town council is made up of primarily old Ukranian men who have very strong opinions. Also, the mayor of town was the owner of the sausage processing plant. So, because he was directly involved in such a thing, he excused himself from the part of the meeting deciding how much the town of Mundare should donate to the cause.
Now I had worked a good twelve hours, driving everywhere to find stories, and the fact that three people were arguing over how much money a giant sausage should get really started to irk me. In my mind, I was yelling "Shut up! Shutup shutup! I want to go home, which is an hour drive, and you people are arguing over sausage!"
One old man talked about how awesome the sausage factory was. "I got to Reno every few months, and as soon as I get off the plane and someone asks me where I'm from, I tell them 'Mundare, Alberta.' And they say 'Oh, where Stawinchy Sausage is made from!' True story!
"Let's face it, some towns would kill for our sausage factory! They'd put up TEN sausage statues if it meant that the factory would move to there!"
After a ten minute rant by this guy, I, as the only other person in this room, wanted to stand up and say, "Kyle Jago, Redwater Review. Look, here's an idea: Let's just forget the symbolism. How about you erect this enormous statue of a penis and get it over with?"
I didn't. But I did quit the job a few days later.
So while I've never seen the Mundare giant sausage up close (although my friend Jean has, hence the link), I curse its existence every time I hear about it. Even though it makes for a very awesome "worst job ever" story.
