A West Vancouver resident says a mouthful
by Kate Zimmerman for the North Shore News
(This column was a response to West Vancouver council’s plan to impose fines on restaurants deemed to be too smelly -- in particular, an Iranian restaurant to which residents of the same building objected. The restaurant eventually had to close.)
GOOD evening, ladies and gentlemen of West Vancouver District Council. Thank you for hearing my deposition. Please excuse if my grammar is not to your liking – English is not my first language. I may, how you say, accidentally dangle a participle. Is there a fine for that?
I come before you today to bring to your honourable attention a terrible travesty being perpetuated upon residents of the district, in which I include myself. My complaints about these offenses have fallen upon severed ears so far but I am hopeful you will pay attention to me now that the floodgates, or beaver dams since we are in Canada, have been opened regarding the unbearable scents of the cooking of my native land. Thank you for bringing to my attention the fact that everything I have eaten and enjoyed in the past has been disgusting. I, too, have been assailed by the beloved customs of others and know how deeply appalling they can be. The smell of Giorgio Beverly Hills, for instance, brings upon me hives of almost Pythagorean proportions. The ozone-gouging qualities of Hummers and SUV’s have hurt my feelings as an environmentalist and humanitarian. Yet I have said nothing. Now, as a result of West Vancouver’s forthcoming decision to ban offensive cooking smells from restaurants, I understand that it is my right to object to the numerous transgressions of those around me whose traditional trappings are unlike my own. I stand before you to make my battered (but certainly not deep-fried) sentiments known.
First, may I ask that the councillor who is covertly drinking Earl Grey tea out of a plastic go-cup please remove it from chambers? Oil of bergamot gives me a headache. Thank-you.
I admit that I have a particularly sensitive nose. While this had been my boast in my former job as a revered parfumier in the old country, here it has become a liability. Hence, these nose-plugs, which I have sported for my 20 years in the district, despite their ineffectiveness. I am now going to remove them and stamp on them (stomp, stomp). I am confident that council will hear my plea and remove from my environs all the odours that have been plaguing me for so long.
Also, I ask you to eliminate all sounds that have been bothering my mother-in-law, who lives with me. Back home she didn’t have to work; here, she must help support the family by working nights. As a result, she attempts to sleep during the day but is forced to endure the staccato of high heels clicking in and out of the boutiques along Bellevue Avenue. The clatter of cash registers opening and closing also disturbs her slumber. I would appreciate on her behalf if council would deter commerce from occurring between the hours of 9:30 and 5:30 weekdays from now on.
Seagulls, too, should be exterminated by quiet poisoning. Their raucous and meaningless conventions have ruined more than a few of my mother-in-law’s beauty sleeps and like most mothers-in-law, she needs all the help she can get.
Speaking of sights I don’t enjoy, they include what is known here as “plumber butt,” although in my country that term would be vulgar. A fine should be levied on all plumbers and teenagers whose low-slung pants risk offending my view; I recommend $10,000. At the same time, blonde streaks in the hair of any woman over the age of 40 appall me. Who are they trying to kid? I would ask council to fine these phonies at least $5,000 apiece.
But back to the smells. It is my habit to attempt to walk daily in my neighbourhood and enjoy the famous beauty of West Vancouver. Unfortunately, I am often beaten back into my $1 million house by the detestable whiff of toasted white bread and French roast coffee in the morning and the sulphurous stench of egg salad sandwiches in the afternoon. Certain days of the week in this part of the world, my mother-in-law and I agree that the reek and clamour of Bridge Mixture being poured into crystal candy dishes is overwhelming. At the same time, she tosses and turns in her nightmares, trying to stifle with her pillow the brutal din of plastic being ripped from fresh cartons of playing cards, which assails her dainty ears the way a scab being peeled off a wound might offend your eyes, exalted councillors.
Thanksgiving and Christmas force us out of town as the stink of roasting turkey and boiling turnip turns my stomach and the clang of gravy boats being set on their saucers attacks my mother-in-law’s hearing like the crash of a Buddhist gong. Meanwhile, candy canes give me the Bee-Gee-Bee-Gees – sorry, heebie jeebies -- with their peppermint-y assaults.
When I walk along Marine Drive at this time of year, my son must be sent ahead on reconnaissance to ensure that there is nobody slurping a gingerbread latte on the sidewalk on which I will soon have to make my cringing way. With this venerable council’s blessing, I hope my child will be able to seize and destroy this detestably fragrant drink and haul the culprit off to the local constabulary.
I suppose it is unfortunate that West Vancouver’s jail cell will soon become an olfactory torture chamber, swamped with the wretched pong of turkey, tea and peppermint. I would be willing to personally finance giant fans to blow the besmirched air North Vancouver’s way.
Luckily, North Vancouver is a refuge for those who cannot conform to West Vancouver’s ideas of decency. These should include this district’s French, Italian, Chinese, Indian, Greek, Iranian and Japanese restaurateurs with their bizarre belief that sauteed onion and garlic are the basis for all of the world’s finest cuisines. They should also include coffee merchants with their foul-smelling bottles of flavoured syrup, as well as wine bars with their odiferous Merlots and revoltingly air-pocked champagnes. Move them all out to North Vancouver, I say.
I look forward to the forthcoming clean-up, distinguished councillors. One more thing: my mother-in-law would appreciate it if the waves of the ocean could be restrained from lapping during business hours. She says they are driving her mental.
Writing > Humour
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