The Coat

Back in 1982 on Christmas Eve I got my first real job -- a work term at the Ministry of Municipal Affairs and Housing in Toronto.

I think they hired me because they made me come in for an interview on Christmas Eve. Anyway it was a big deal in the Ingard household. My dad took me down to Eatons department store to get outfitted as an office worker. Somewhere between trying on polyester dress pants and choosing socks that weren't of the tube variety I spied it - a handsome navy blue full length wool overcoat! Dad smiled when I put it on and he bought it for me.

Up to that point, it was probably the most grown up thing I owned. When I put it on I felt like I belonged to some grand fraternity of downtown businessmen who read the Globe on the subway and put tight rubbers on their shoes to protect them from the slush. I liked that coat - soaked in paternalism as it was.

Captains of industry and politicians had nothing on me. Sometimes with the buttons undone, I turned a corner really fast so that the material swung out like Trudeau's cape. Oh such a man of the world was I!

Unfortunately that man couldn't find an apartment in Toronto on such short notice so I camped out in my aunt's basement in Brampton for four months. It didn't matter - I put on my coat, took the bus to the train station and figured out how to buy GO tickets in bulk. In a waiting room filled with commuters someone had left a dry cleaning discount card on a bench. I picked it up.

In the fall of '83 my coat and I went back to the ministry. This time living in a house at Yonge and Eglinton. I signed a one year lease on behalf of seven roommates for the princely sum of $900 a month.

I was starting to grow up. There were no hardships at 15 Broadway but a certain amount of coordination was involved in getting ready for work with seven others. But then again I aimed to be last in line for the bathroom most mornings - so not much discipline there.

One day Cal asked to borrow my coat. He got drunk and threw up on it. I condemned him to hell in a really loud voice. Then I threw a dry cleaning discount card at him. At least that's how I remember it - maturity slipping through my fingers with every word. I don't remember forgiving him but I thanked him when he handed a clean coat back to me a week later.

So maybe the life of a gentleman was going to take a little time. My navy wool coat was evidently gaining experience. And I was too -- just not how I envisioned it in the men's wear department of Eatons.