Particivision and other stories (selections)

Tour of Duty

The half-filled bus arrived at the second station at eight o'clock sharp. The driver pulled up to the waiting group of fifteen or twenty people, opened the door, took a clipboard from the storage space behind the seat, and got out.

"Good morning!" It was a resonant voice, and the tone was cheerful and efficient.

"Good morning," a few answered, shuffling in the end-of-October chill. They were a mixed crowd—some with suitcases, others with knapsacks, standing with parents or partners, or in clumps of three or four, with old friends or with people just met; some faces were eager and smiling, others neutral and accepting, a few resistant.

The driver unlocked the storage compartments of the bus. Then he began to call out the names on his list.

"Arlie Boehm." A large person with light skin and lots of red hair stepped forward, put a worn knapsack into one of the compartments, and boarded the bus. There were about twenty people already inside, scattered from front to back. Arlie chose one of the few remaining window seats. They were headed to a base camp near Kenora, which was a good four hours away through country she'd only heard of. She wanted to see it.

"Susan Smith." A blond person came forward and put two suitcases into the same compartment.

"They're both yours?" the driver asked.

"Yes," she replied, a little defiant, a little afraid.

He made a note on his clipboard and called out the next name. Arlie watched as one by one, the people loaded their bags and said their goodbyes to whoever had come to see them off. Her parents were both at home, one in Listowel, the other in Hull. She had visited each one during the summer—their annual connection—and they had said their goodbyes then. Someone, thin and dark-skinned, was being hugged profusely by his mother. The young man was not embarrassed. His father reached out to shake hands, but the son embraced him too. He boarded the bus and Arlie saw him look around shyly, briefly, then smile at her as he headed to share her seat. He fit easily in to the remaining third of it.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Shahran."

"Arlie. Hi."

"You from around here?"

"Sort of. I'm going to the university here, but originally I'm from Quebec. You?"

"Yeah. I live here. Those are my parents." He pointed out the window to the couple waving proudly at their son. "I just finished high school. Thought I'd do my tour now, take the time to think about what I want to do next. What year are you in?"

"I just finished my second, of four. Decided I could use the break," she smiled thinly. "Besides, I thought that if I waited until I was done and then did the tour before I got a job, I'd forget everything. I mean, I think I'll need to apply what I've learned right away—you know, use it so I don't lose it."

"You could always work for a few years and then do it—"

"True, but I don't know how I'd feel about 'interrupting my career', as they say."

"Yeah, but your position would be held for you, wouldn't it? Even so," he added, "I guess it might still be a pain. I guess losing a year of seniority is a big thing for some people."

"Maybe, but everyone loses the same year—"

"But not at the same time."

"That's true." She realized only then the potential for strategizing for promotions based on seniority. Some of the people boarding the bus could well be in that position.

"And you'd still get paid, wouldn't you?" he asked.

"Oh yes, which is why a lot of employers frown on it. They used to ask on their applications if you had done your tour of duty yet, now it's illegal to ask. But," she circled back, "if I like my job as much as I expect to—intend to—hope to," she smiled at her revisions, "I think I might resent the year off, and that's another concern. I don't want to go into my tour with a feeling of resentment, y'know?"