CLICK TO BUY THE BOOK...0nly 99cents!

It was while working at a Nuclear Generating Station in Ontario, Canada that the author met many American contractors who specialized in nuclear contract work within North America.

These men and women jokingly called themselves Nuclear Whores and the website in which they found work was called http://www.roadwhore.com/.

According to the online ‘Urban Dictionary’, a Road Whore is defined as: “A temporary worker from out of town. In engineering and construction, road whores seek out and find massive bonuses, high pay rates, hazardous duty pay, per diem, housing allowances and any form of premium remuneration”.

These new friends taught him the ways of the contractor and he soon began a life as a nuclear contract engineer, moving from project to project around Ontario.

Soon after beginning his life as a nuclear contract worker, the author met and fell in love with a news journalist while doing improvisation at Second City in Toronto.

Three years later they got married. A year after that they gave birth to a son.

Unfortunately their love was short-lived. It ended two years into their marriage while living in Kincardine, Ontario while working under contract at the Bruce Nuclear Facility and she was home with their son.

One day, she packed everything including their son and moved to Oakville leaving the author in Kincardine, all alone.


Like many parents who suddenly find themselves inthis position, the author was surprised when told he was not an equal parent of his 1 year old son, but was what his divorce lawyer referred to as a “Secondary Parent”.

As such, he was not allowed to talk to his son whenever he wanted or to see him whenever he wanted. He had to fight to see his own son, and this took time.Without his boy in his daily life, he couldn’t eat, sleep or work. He was absolutely devastated.

After a few days, he went to his family physician who was immediately concerned for the author’s well‑being. This country doctor suggested a personal remedy of his for overcoming difficult times; he told him to concentrate all his thoughts away from the negativity of the present to the funny, happy stories of his past. He suggested trying to relive these memories, by recollecting them through painting, writing, songs, etc...

So, he wrote.

Each day, he concentrated on one funny, true story from his past. He would think about it for hours at a time, sometimes all day, and then would write it down. It took 42 days for the author’s lawyer to get visitation permission to visit his son in Oakville and in that time he wrote the stories that compile this blog.





Paul and the Prostitute



Paul is one of the last few "nice guys"; a true gentleman.

A few years ago, Paul was moving into a new apartment across from the park on Jarvis near Gerrard in Toronto. For those unfamiliar with the area, prostitutes line the streets at night.

The night Paul moved into his place was cold and rainy. As he unpacked and set up his apartment he could see from his window a young lady outside. She stood on the street curb wearing very little, a tiny skirt and a cropped shirt which she hugged to keep warm as she braved the elements. Her hair was soaking wet as it fell flat, sticking across her face and she peered through it intently, trying to find her next client, if only for a few minutes of shelter and a few dollars in her pocket.

Paul, from the warmth and comfort of his new apartment, thought to himself how cold she must be from the rain and wind. As the downpour grew so did his sympathy for her. Finally he couldn’t take seeing someone suffer so much and he braved the outdoors to run across the street to her. He handed her an umbrella and said, “I can’t do much about the cold but this should keep you dry. When you’re done with…your shift….just hand it in to the concierge of the building across the street and I’ll pick it up in the morning”.

Although he probably couldn’t see it because of the dark and the rain, the young girl started to tear up as he was saying this. It was the first unselfish act that someone had done for her in a long time. As he started to leave to run back to the shelter of his apartment, she called out to him, “What is your name anyway?” to which he yelled back “Paul”. “Thanks Paul, you are a true sweetheart”.

Paul went to bed that night feeling really proud of what he had done. In fact, the next afternoon as he was getting ready for his date he was still feeling good about himself. It was a blind date that his mother had arranged; the niece of their local pastor.

Her name was Melissa and they agreed to meet at Paul’s apartment to go to dinner. He was looking sharp when she arrived at his door.

As Melissa and Paul left his apartment and started the usual get-to-know-each-other chatter a woman behind them cried out, “Paul! Paul!” He turned behind him to see the prostitute from last night. She was waving madly with a big smile on her face, “Thanks again Paul for last night! You are wonderful! Your lady there is really lucky to be with a man like you.”

Paul’s face instantly went bright red as he gave a small wave of recognition and turned to walk quickly away. Melissa could barely keep up. “Thanks again for last night?? What was that all about Paul?”

“Oh…she was really wet and I…” he stuttered, obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation.

They were then greeted by "Hi Paul!" by two ladies of the night who were walking by. Apparently word had spread of Paul's kindness.

"For someone so new in town you sure have met a lot of the locals", said Melissa with a slightly nervous smile.

Later, over dinner at a local restaurant, Paul and Melissa were engaged in pleasant conversation as they started to get to know each other. Suddenly, there was a loud bang coming from the outside window, making both Paul and Melissa jump. They turned quickly to see the lady from the night before plus two of her friends. The three of them were banging on the glass and waving to Paul from outside. Although Paul could not hear what they were yelling, he slunked into his chair and cringed at the thought that he had become a local neighbourhood celebrity.

Melissa was kind enough to pretend not to notice the outside calamity and she calmly turned to carry on with dinner.

In fact, Paul was wondering if perhaps Melissa was oblivious to the nature of these women's occupation...perhaps she thought they were just friendly neighbours.

He did think that. Right up until he heard the voicemail left by his Mother a few days later.

"Paul, why did the Pastor ask me to remind you that hanging out with the local Mary Magdalenes does not make you Jesus Christ? What did he mean by that?"

Needless to say, Paul didn't get set up on any more blind dates.

2 comments:

CFandM said...

Haha I think those Ladies Of the Evening bring another meaning to "Kill them with kindness" or in this case "Kill the Mood"

Elise said...

I'm so happy to read these oft told stories again Max. It's making my belly sore with laughter reading them out loud. Thanks for making my pants wet! I mean with pee...