Quote:
Originally Posted by SignalHillHiker
Whatever is going on hit a bit personally tonight. I went to the uphill superette, and Edna, the oldest of the women working there, she's been there my whole life, pulled me aside and said, "Last night. They're letting us all go."
And I asked if they were closing or what was going on, and she said, "No, they're bringing the b'ys in." And I didn't realize what she meant by that, but it became clear from context (literally then noticed 10 guys walking around moving boxes, etc.) they're replacing the long-term staff with newcomers from India or its neighbours. Not sure if ownership changed, or if it's just the current owner's choice.
Shitty. Edna's an institution. Her husband's wake was even practically in the store a few years ago.
I gave her my address to let me know where she ends up, and I'll go there instead.
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This is the 'rubber hits the road' effect of the policies of the last few years. Growth, the people screamed! Well, this is what societal growth looks like at a personal scale. It leaves casualties in its wake.
It stings deeper in places with more of a sense of a people in a place. Newfoundland and Quebec are the archetypes of that for this country.
The late-model effect of doubling down on multiculturalism (line must go up!) produces interesting effects when it scales to places not used to it. Our largest cities are so fluid as to be used to the creative destruction of new displacing the old. Institutions can die with only the tiniest tear shed by the locals.
In a certain sense, necessary. Places trapped in amber die in another way. I'm not sure what is more tragic, honestly. A place that loses itself through stasis or through change?
But the losses are more visible at smaller scale. The Ednas of Newfoundland are going to be more common going forwards. Compete or die. Who cares what wreckage we leave in the wake, because line must go up. I hope she ends up on her feet, because setbacks late in life are harder.
The wreckage just is more visible to the people who've memories of the place.