Welcome to Pickering, Ontario! Home of nuclear power, sweat pants (and sweat pant cutoffs), trucks – lots and lots of trucks, backwards baseball caps, noted hockey idiot Sean Avery, reams of identical track homes, malls and casual racism.
I can’t remember where I live!
It’s all malls. Big malls with every ugly big-box store you can think of, small malls with all sorts of shitty pizza joints and strange food hybrids such as Thai-Indian-Poutine Nuggets. Do you like shopping malls and no sense of community or beauty? Then Pickering is for you. Do you like a lively downtown, some culture or a nice place to walk and hang out? Well, then Pickering is not for you. There actually isn’t a downtown. But there is is a mall! A really big mall. Surrounded by a plethora of mid-sized and smaller malls.
Pickering, “A perfect fusion of metropolitan life and cottage country charm” or so the internet Pickering page would have you believe. That’s a pretty optimistic thing to say about this culturally-barren and traffic-centric wasteland.
Can’t you just smell that lovely cottage country charm?
“Pickering: Destroying the cultural fabric one mall at a time”. I actually asked for directions from a nice lady who told me my destination was two malls up the road.
We are staying with my mum and sister and her husband. They know I like good beer so they bought me some Rickards Red, which I declared is not a good beer (although I am choking one back as I write this). But it was nice they thought of getting a “more refined tasting” beer for me.
That’s a bold statement, Rickards!
“You have terrible taste in beer”, Buck, my brother-in-law barked at me. Not much point in arguing. I said I also like wine. “If you want some wine, there’s a box of red in the fridge.”
They’re family and they are fine well-meaning folks and they are nice enough to put us up and put up with us and my snobby-beer loving ways.
Can’t wait to get to Portugal.
Hey Dad, my skin hurts! Mine too, son, mine too.