City for sublet

You’ll be back

Aaron Levere Staff

“People” will say that they hate Winnipeg and that they are leaving, but these deserters should not be taken too seriously. Their disillusionment is real, but it is not total. A case in point, let us peruse the old renter’s guide for a moment.

Hmm . . . “sublet,” “sublet,” “sublet,” “sublet,” and not much else. Between the lines this tells a familiar, pouty tale: “I hate it here. I’m leaving! . . . um . . . for six months.” Winnipeg is defined by the love-hate relationship.

This city just isn’t detestable — underwhelming maybe, but not detestable. It won’t stand up to high expectations (and what will?), but at the same time it will exceed what you might have thought. Hating this city is like hating the sidekick because he’s not the hero.

It’s not the city’s fault if it disappoints; it’s our own human tendency to think that maybe things could be better if only they were just a little bit different. If you’re a hater, it’s because you want Winnipeg to be something it’s not. Teen angst sets in when you realize that your parents are just people. If you grew up here, Winnipeg angst sets in with a similar revelation; it’s just a city.

It’s not really possible to extoll the virtues of Winnipeg for two reasons. One is that they are subtle and, like sweatpants, only make sense from the inside. And the other is that it is sacreligously un-Winnipeg to display any sense of self-importance. This is the reason why a t-shirt and jeans will suffice for any restaurant, social, club, or occasion anywhere in Winnipeg. This is also the reason why there is not a city-wide frenzy to build high-end condos, something which recently mystified the Globe and Mail. To aspire to be more than we are caters to standards not our own.

A Winnipeg phenomenon I’ve observed as a newcomer serves as a parable. People here really are as friendly as all the license plates say. It’s an astonishing experience upon arriving from other cities. Winnipeg has been called the world’s largest small town, partially for that reason. But on several occasions, I’ve witnessed something seemingly uncharacteristic of such a friendly place.

A group of people standing at a bus stop on a cold day will watch as someone slips on the ice and falls, right in front of them, and no one will react at all. No one is concerned. No one shows sympathy. No one asks if they are alright or tries to help them up. There is no acknowledgement whatsoever by anyone watching. Not even a laugh.

This was unsettling at first. It seemed so callous, especially for Winnipeg.

But after seeing the same situation again and again, an explanation dawned on me, it’s just the way it is. It is to be expected. Inevitably we will all slip and fall on the ice in front of a crowd of strangers, probably a few times, every winter. Falling is just one of the unpleasant realities of living in Winnipeg, like bugs and potholes and mediocre pizza.

We are unified in all of this, our common plight of living here. That is what makes the people here stand out from the citizens of any other city. It’s the Winnipeg paradox: we may hate it here, but we’re in it together, which is what makes it great. Solidarity against our shared misery. What could be more human?

Of course, this backhanded greatness can only be proclaimed when dutifully attached to the truth that it is, in fact, “one [ . . . ] city.”

Some of us arrive here and get it, and others arrive (from Toronto) and don’t.

As for those who grew up here, they might leave, but, like the Jets, we are all certain that one day they’ll come back. Everyone does.