I moved to Calgary in 1997. At this point, I’d kill to say I was an infant, but I was already an adult. At least I was a young adult?? I remember the weekend I

I moved to Calgary in 1997. At this point, I’d kill to say I was an infant, but I was already an adult. At least I was a young adult?? I remember the weekend I drove out to find a place to live. It was early July and I was looking to rent for September 1. There was nothing available. I don’t mean there was nothing in my price range or there were places, but they were at the corner of crack rock and gunshot wound. There was nothing… Sunday morning, I called my boss to tell her that I was really worried I wouldn’t be able to find a place. I drove back to Regina Monday without even looking at a place. By Tuesday, she talked one of her friends into renting me a room in his house and I couriered a year of rent cheques to him without even seeing the place. Six months in, I started looking for an apartment. I lucked out, found a one bedroom and was so damned happy that I rented two places for two months. Nobody in Calgary was even remotely surprised that I’d pay rent on two places - rather, they were surprised that I only rented two places for two months. Work wise, my company wasn’t even that big, but we couldn’t find enough space for all of us in one building so we were spread out over parts of six floors in four buildings. I liked working there, but if I ever had a bad morning, I could have walked out, made a half dozen calls, walked to my friend’s record store on 17th and had six job offers by the time I made it back downtown. Some of my friends who interviewed there had final questions like “Can you start now? No, what about later this afternoon? Okay, tomorrow? What if we pay you a two week bonus?”