Ackroyd and Cooney
Advent, Week One: Hope
On Sunday we entered the season of Advent. Lacking an Advent wreath, I ventured out looking for four coloured candles and something to hold them. At a nearby thrift store the closest thing to candle holders I could find was a silver centre piece with four swans bearing candles on their backs and encircling a vase for roses. It was still in its box (and likely had been for the last 46 years*). Although I was tempted, I thought the novelty might wear off within the week. So, I resorted to the next best option: four shot glasses in the aisle over. I came home and arranged beeswax candles in my newly acquired shot glasses. With some bits of cedar boughs thrown in, it didn’t look half bad. I lit the first blue candle, signifying hope. And here, with whatever we have, we enter Advent.
In order to reflect on what it means to wait in the darkness — and there seek hope, peace, joy, and love — I’m committing to write something here each week until Christmas. Consider this field notes on those four themes. I invite you to join me, in the darkening days of a Pacific Northwest winter, watching and waiting for signs of light.
…
On Wednesday I waited at a nondescript intersection in Richmond for five and a half hours. I wasn’t waiting to cross the street, or for the light to turn green. (In fact, I saw it turn green about 165 times, give or take.) I was there — at the intersection of Ackroyd and Cooney in Richmond, BC — waiting to get into the Service Canada office to apply for a new passport.
The day started in downtown Vancouver, where I was told in no uncertain terms that there was “no chance” of me getting in and I would be better off returning at 4am the next day. Despite my affinity for early mornings, I felt a bit bewildered at this prospect; I took the metro line to the next closest passport office. When I arrived at 10:30am, there were already about 30 people waiting outside. I took my place at the end of the line and started making bets in my head about how long this might take. I knew there was a chance I would wait all day and return home with nothing to show for it. At least I didn’t have anywhere to be for the next seven hours…
From what I could tell, one hour in, the line was only advancing thanks to queue defectors — likely folks who had to get back to work or figured there was no hope of getting in today. Some of us were stubborn enough to stay. And stay we did while the line inched along at a speed of approximately one meter per hour.
As I entertained the thought of waiting all day, something unexpected happened. I found myself settling into this particular place, with these particular people. I remembered childhood outings to run errands with my mom in the small town where I grew up. Inevitably an innocuous trip the grocery store would turn into a two hour affair. “I’ve done this before,” I recalled. “I know how to wait.” I even found a sense of comfort in the thought that I had nowhere to be but here.
I lifted my gaze from my patch of sidewalk. Above the apartment buildings and power lines across the street, there were towering pine trees. I admired them silently. There was a cold wind, but, as far as I could read into the sky, no threat of rain. At one point, the sun broke through the clouds, casting shadows of the cars passing through the intersection. I felt it on my skin, too, with surprising satisfaction.
In front of me, a woman with dark eyes peering out between a furry hood and a mask motioned for me to look up. A single crow was perched in the tree right above me. I stepped aside and a moment later missed a splat on the sidewalk. Two hours in, the Chinese woman behind me offered to hold my place in line if I wanted to go get some food. I did. I came back with a steam bun and two sesame balls (one paid for, one given) and I found hand warmers, too… which meant I could read a book without getting numb fingers. Around the three hour mark, the Japanese man in front of me offered me a seat, which I accepted with some convincing. A young man joined the queue behind me, swapping out with his mother every couple hours. He entertained me with his entrepreneurial ideas and on-the-spot career planning. “If we’re having to wait this long, I bet they only have two people working up there… I think I’m going to apply!” As we got closer to the lobby door he remarked “You know what they need right at this corner? …A hot dog stand!”
At this point, four hours in, I had almost given up hope that we would get in today. But, curiously, it was beginning to feel like a ‘we.’ One by one, as people were admitted into the lobby, I felt genuine excitement and gratification on their behalf. Even if the rest of us didn’t make it, someone who had waited since 9am was going to get in just before closing! But when the young entrepreneur exclaimed “There is hope!” to our small cohort of wait-ers, I still felt a bit skeptical. At this point though, I certainly wasn’t about to head home.
Just ten minutes before closing, my turn came to enter the lobby. It was such a relief to be inside a building with heat. (As if what I had been waiting for all day was just to warm up, never mind the passport!)
A walkie-talkie system informed the lobby when another person could be sent up to the passport office on the third floor. I began clapping for the people ahead of me when their time came, and others joined in.
“Okay, send another one up,” crackled through the commissionaire’s device. It was me.
It felt like a true ascension of some kind to ride the elevator. “Long day?” I asked the man receiving my application. “They’re all the same,” he returned in monotone. “Right, it was me with the long day,” I thought. Five minutes later, the application had been submitted, and I was back out on the street, heading away from Ackroyd and Cooney.
I bit into a crispy sesame ball as I walked back towards the metro station, feeling grateful for the day, its miraculous outcome, the still-warm hand warmers in my pocket, and even for the waiting.
In retrospect, I conceded that my young friend was probably right. “Yes, there is hope.”
*Reader be warned: this piece is riddled with unverified ‘facts’ and figures.
