Swap Shop

In the interests of giving you all a more rounded view of what it is I'm actually doing out here I thought I should take some time to write about the people who facilitate this working holiday here in Canada. In England they're known as Bunac, but the Canadian version, while being exactly the same in all other aspects, goes by the name of Swap.

The Swap office is tucked away inside a travel agents on King St, a mere hop and skip away from the now infamous Global hostel where I spent my formative weeks here in Toronto - hopping and skipping being my preferred mode of getting about town. Hmm. When you arrive in Canada, your first port of call should be the Swap office and through their orientation program (which I think I touched upon before in an earlier post) you are gently eased into the Canadian way of life. Slumped in front of a powerpoint presentation bleary-eyed, jet-lagged and trying not to think about what time it is back in England, the 'super-nice' (possibly the gayest phrase of all time, but said without the slightest hint of irony all the time here) Swap reps guide you through the mundane necessities of SIN numbers (social insurance) bank accounts and cell (mobile) phones while reminding you that you don't get all your tax back upon the return to your native land and thanking you sincerely for contributing to their pensions. My bastard pleasure. All in all they're enormously helpful and make this transitional stage of the trip as painless as possible for all involved.

But it's not all work, work, work though - as the irritating advert used to say - and another aspect of Swap is to act as the social liason to all us newbies. To this end they have a Swap members only function during the summer every Wednesday - the abysmally named Cheeky Wednesdays.

- Hi, where are you going tonight?

- Hi, I'm going to Cheeky Wednesdays.

- Then you're a cunt.

But it's free to get in and the drinks are cheap, so you have to give it a go. Still, Cheeky Wednesdays - Jesus Christ. The place is populated by young things (notice I carefully avoided the more familiar bright young things - these individuals are far from bright) mostly lads in their late teens/early 20s, who bound around the place as if Mum and Dad have gone out for the evening and they can't believe their luck that they've been left home alone. Essentially it's one colossal hormone dominated by slavering, howling, hairy scrotums on legs who, it seems, would grind up against the kitchen sink if it was wearing a tu-tu. In reality, of course, a broken table has more chance of getting laid, but it's certainly amusing to watch. Kind of like a wildlife documentary on human beings - both horrifying and fascinating all at the same time. I can't talk, I was there last night after all - but in my defence I kept away from the walking glands, opting instead to spend my time with the super-nice reps from the Swap office. And I didn't grind either, I danced. Well. Oh yeah. Unfortunately I took too much advantage of the cheap drinks and - considering I had an agency interview this morning - got way too pissed.

At the interview I was still fairly obviously drunk and had a sort of out of body experience while I was fielding questions. In my head it was all fairground music, whoops and cheers, but I was also vaguely aware of a perculiar work-related conversation I was having with this huge Amazonian woman who I had a strange compulsion to grind up against. Fortunately I resisted that temptation and found myself getting gently shoved into the computer testing area by the puzzled-looking Amazon for some more tests on Word, Outlook (surely just opening e-mails, I thought. Nope) Excel and typing speed. As the hangover began to settle in nicely for the day like a big, hot sweaty leather apron, these were the ideal tools to introduce a thumping headache into the mix. I also chose this as the ideal moment to vent my bowels of the foul stench that had been bubbling away inside me and testing my sphincter-clenching skills to the maximum during the interview process. Needless to say, upon its release I had only moments to realise its eye-watering potency and chuckle to myself about the possible need for a priest before the Amazon appeared right next to me to check everything was OK. 'Yes, fine', I grinned sheepishly and turning a deep crimson, at which point she must have taken a direct hit as she quickly turned tail and sped away barely acknowledging my reply. So a good impression all round there, I'd say. Now I guess I just sit back and wait for the offers to come flooding in. Yep.

That'll do for now - the next installment should be even more thrilling as it's the busiest weekend in the Toronto calendar coming up in a couple of days - the Pride parade is coming to town and it's time to get fabulous! Bye now.