The Blogoff - "My Hometown"

The blogoff continues! As you're hopefully aware, there's a war going on between yours truly and a vile imposter. Each saturday, we'll be making a post on a preset topic, and waiting for votes from you, the loyal (and handsome and supremely intelligent, might I add) readers. So, after reading my post and tolerating the filth that is fakenewts, place a vote on whose entry you like more. Without further ado...

Ah, Victoria.  A tourist destination if ever there was one - a city that doubles in population during the winter, has more restaurants per capita than any other city in North America, and often oozes wealth and ostentation.  One only needs to look at the Empress Hotel for a second to realize that Victoria is a place that speaks to money. 

Naturally, growing up in a place so filled with tourists can often lead to resentment - because for every wealthy visitor, there is one lower-class resident who lives the life of a servant, and one even-lower class man who wishes he lived the life of the servant. 

And then there's the middle-class white kid, who feels resentment towards, well, everyone and everything.  Enter the young CrazyNewt. 

Growing up in this town, I used to feel unexplainable anger towards the rich American tourists, elderly English visitors, bemused European travellers, and camera-happy Asian paparazzi.  About the only visitors I tolerated as a teenager were the sexy Australian surfer chicks, because, well, I was a teenage male.  And really, how can anyone hate sexy australian surfer chicks?  It's physically impossibly, I guarantee you.  Unless you're another sexy Australian surfer chick, involved in some sort of squabble understood only by Sexy Australian Surfer Chicks.  Sort of a highlander, "there can be only one" thing, I imagine. 

Anyways, some friends and I felt it was our moral obligation to berate the piss out of some of the dumber visitors to our fair city.  We reserved our contempt for those morons who were truly deserving - the visitors who got off the plane in July wearing Winter Clothing (because "It's cold in Canada!"), the Americans who sneered at Canadian money and called it "toy money", and the tourists who would block an entire sidewalk so they could spend five minutes arranging their family for a photo of a lamp post or garbage can.  You know, the dregs.

Now, I know you can't really blame tourists for some of their actions.  One could expect Canada to be colder than home, due to the reputation we have throughout the world - but to wear a parka in july just reeks of lunacy.  To be unused to a new currency is perfectly natural - but to make fun of it simply because it is not like your money back home is just rude.  And to take pictures of things that are an interesting variation from what you have at home is perfectly fine (my friend Kittens took pictures of our drainpipes and postboxes while here!) - but to block people from passing to do so is rather selfish. 

And so we would taunt the fools.  Partly to encourage them to never come back.  Partly to defend the good name of our hometown.  And partly to gain some sort of feeling of power against people who hold all the power at home.  Mostly, though, we did it because it was funny.

There were great moments.  My personal favourite:

RANDOM TOURIST:  "Excuse me, what kind of tree is that?"

DAVE (Who was just walking by, minding his own business):  "That?  Oh, it's a Douglas Fir."  (Keeps walking)

ANNOYING TOURIST: (grabs DAVE'S arm):  "And what about that tree?"

DAVE:  "Um.  That's also a douglas fir."

JACKASS TOURIST:  "And that tree?"

DAVE:  (Rolls eyes)  "That's the Grandfather tree.  Ancient native stories say that, many moons ago, this tree housed the soul of a dying indian elder.  And, since that time, his kinsmen approach the tree for words of advice.  And if you ask on a full moon, you will get a wise answer... or so the stories go."

MORON TOURIST:  "Really?"

DAVE:  "No.  That tree's name is Randolph."

FOOL TOURIST:  "You're messing with me.  Seriously, what kind of tree is it?"

DAVE:  "...A Douglas Fir."

True story.