Flattery Strategy

            I had to work early on Thursday morning. Everyone passes me when I’m riding the mountain bike, though with the Phoenix only the spandex freaks tended to get the better of me. I guess one of the benefits I’m getting from pushing that heavy machine around is that it’s giving my legs a lot of strength so that if I start riding a lighter bike again I’ll be able to whiz past everybody.

            I worked for Terry Shoffner, who informed me that Bob Berger, my favourite teacher to work for at OCADU, would be retiring after this year. Apparently he and his wife have a house in Port Hope but pay $3000.00 a month for their apartment in Toronto so he can teach.

            I commented that all of the good ones are leaving, then asked Terry if he was sticking around. He declared that they were gonna have to drag him out, but later he admitted that he’d probably pack up in another five years. He informed me that he was seventy years old and I was surprised. I told him he didn’t look seventy and he thanked me but I offered that he looked about sixty-five. Afterwards though I thought that saying that someone looks only five years younger than their actual age isn’t much of a compliment. This kind of flattery must be done in ten year increments or else it’s useless. Giving someone five less years of visible aging is just small change. It’s like when things are only fifty cents off at the supermarket. What kind of piddly sale is that? Even if I wanted the product I’d walk away from it after such an insult. I should have told him that he looked sixty. I think that when I told him he looked sixty-five I was comparing him to me and assuming that I look my age of sixty-one, which may not be true.

            He said that after a faculty member at OCADU turns seventy their health benefits go down. That seemed like the opposite of the way it should be to me.

            Terry and I talked about all the instructors that have retired. There are only two teachers left that I worked for in the 80s. He named some teachers that used to be there and I named a few. I didn't recognize all of the ones he named and he didn't recognize all of mine, but there were many that we both knew. Three of the old instructors had a jazz band and quite a few other OCA teachers past and present were or are musicians. From a model's point of view there is so much less work at the college than there used to be that we don't tend to see instructors enough anymore to get to know them.

            I rode home and had time to lie down for an hour and a half though I don't think I got any sleep. This was surprising considering that I didn't sleep the night before either. When I got up I had about half an hour to eat some yogourt with peaches and then I headed back to OCADU to work for Bob Berger.

            When Bob shook hands with me in the classroom he asked how I was. I told him I’d received some sad news that day. “What happened?” he inquired with concern. “I heard you’re retiring.” He told me that it’s time for him to retire now because there is so much that he wants to do and teaching takes up too much time and energy. He wants to paint a lot and he wants to find one good gallery where he can always show his paintings. He mentioned also that he’d like to get back into music. I remember him telling me that he used to play guitar with a band. I admitted that it was happy news for him to be retiring and that I was happy for him but that I would miss him. He assured me that he would miss his family at OCADU as well. I imparted that Aretha Franklin had announced her retirement as well and asked him if that was a coincidence. He laughed and insisted that she is way above him. I pointed out that they are both about the same age.

            I worked for Bob’s class the first session of a pose that would finish next Thursday. As usual, he had me pose with my clothes on and since he likes to have me sitting with a book, I made notes for my upcoming English essay.

            In the room where I was working the stage is particularly high and I wrenched my bad knee while stepping down from it too suddenly.

            On the way home I stopped at Freshco where I bought milk, orange, canned peaches, toilet paper and toothpaste. The guy behind me at the checkout revealed to me that he’d been in Aesthetics class with me last fall. I didn’t recognize him but then again I sat in the front and hardly saw anyone that didn’t speak up in class to make me turn around. He confessed that he hadn’t done very well on the course so I didn’t rub it in that I’d gotten an A. He left while I was still bagging my groceries but I saw him again unlocking his bike and asked him if he was a philosophy student. He disclosed that he was a music major. I hadn’t known that Music was a possible major at U of T. I asked why he hadn’t gone to the Conservatory but he surprised me with the information that they don’t teach jazz there. It looks like he’s right that there is no course there that focuses entirely on jazz. I offered that I’d heard that they had a pretty good jazz program at Humber College. He admitted that was true but insisted that it’s not as good as U of T. I guess that the University of Toronto’s Jazz curriculum is probably more selective than Humber in that the auditioning process is stricter and I’ll bet they take in fewer students. This guy is probably pretty impressive if he got in. He was interested to hear about the Canadian Poetry course that I’m taking and said that’s the kind of course he’d like to take but was disappointed to find out that it’s a third year course so he can’t take it as an elective. He told me he lives in the neighbourhood and shops at Freshco all the time so we’ll likely see each other again.