A Vancouver Listicle
by Sam Kerr
Writing the phrase “Millennials love listicles” makes me feel like the bad man touched me where my bathing suit goes. Unfortunately, I don’t choose what people like to read and if I wanted “professional integrity” I should have finished my engineering degree. So here goes, welcome to Archive Vancouver’s first-ever Top 1 Vancouver Listicle of the Month for May / June 2017.
**Trigger Warning: This listicle is about suicide. It includes jokes in very bad taste. If the subject of suicide brings you trouble please read no further. Archive Vancouver does not encourage suicide and we apologize for any harm we may have caused.
Upgrades to the Burrard Street Bridge include a beautiful new suicide-prevention barrier on the pedestrian walkway. With that in mind here are Vancouver’s Top 4 Places to Kill Yourself!
You know what’s better than brunch? Breakfast. You know what else is better than brunch? Lunch. If you like brunch there’s a 20% chance you have a drinking problem, an 80% chance the friend who invited you has a drinking problem, and if you like brunch during the week there’s a 100% chance you’re unemployed. It’s the whitest meal outside of “high tea” and the food can’t decide if it’s extra gross breakfast or morning dessert. If you need a drink that badly at 10 a.m. drop a shot of whiskey into your coffee, stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, and contemplate what a disaster your life has become. That’s what the rest of us do.
Here’s the good news, a self-inflicted gun shot in a fancy Yaletown bistro would probably end brunch in Vancouver for at least a year. We promise to cover the story on our blog.
3. Single family detached home in Dunbar
Looking back, I think my greatest athletic achievement was beating the hell out of the Dunbar baseball team in the little league city championships when I was 12. We chased two pitchers early and the game ended via the mercy rule. Tony Gallagher was Dunbar’s manager and he wore a satin jacket in the dugout like he was Joe Torre. I guess personal style is no substitute for managerial acumen.
Nowadays I’d be disappointed if my baseball district didn’t beat Dunbar by four touchdowns. It’s damn near impossible to field a halfway competitive little league team when your neighbourhood is full of empty houses. I understand why real-estate investors from China don’t rent their places out to locals (I wouldn’t want dirty human feet walking around inside my TFSA) but we, as a community, should recognize that mass vacancy has negatively impacted little league baseball in Dunbar. Priorities, folks.
Anyway, the nice thing about killing yourself in a single family detached house in Dunbar is the privacy. If you choose a house that’s been built in the last five years there’s a 50/50 chance that nobody’s home. Solitude will allow peace in the final few moments of your life as you imagine an alternative existence in the American southwest where beautiful mansions with modern finishings and a swimming pool cost less than a 400-square-foot bucket in Coal Harbour.
2. 300 Level Rogers Arena
This year was especially bad for Canucks fans because management didn’t see it coming. If being terrible to get a good draft pick was the plan all along why did they sign Loui Eriksson to a six-year deal for $36 million? If you asked a random sampling of death-row dogs at the SPCA if they thought signing Loui Eriksson to a six-year deal was a good idea (one bark yes, two barks no) there’s a good chance the dogs who don’t speak English or understand hockey would have made a better decision than Jim Benning and Trevor Linden. And let’s grow up about Trevor Linden. We all love that iconic photo of him hugging Kirk McLean in the ’94 finals (which they lost) but being photogenic doesn’t qualify anyone to run a hockey team. We’re talking about a guy whose crowning business achievement is lending his name to a chain of fitness centres. It gets worse. Linden did such a bad job as president of the players union during the 2004 lockout that people openly speculated that he was torpedoing the players’ side of negotiations in bad faith while angling for a job in the league offices. That speculation turned out to be false; Linden wasn’t a double agent, he was just an incompetent negotiator. I’d be nervous letting Linden run my Jugo Juice franchise but somehow he ended up in charge of the Canucks. The most optimistic assessment is ownership hired Linden as a public relations stunt to deflect criticism about the declining state of the franchise. The pessimistic viewpoint is ownership has such terrible judgment they thought Linden was actually the best person for the job.
Unless we win the lottery in two years and get Jack Hughes (Lose for Hughes!) it looks like we’re a decade away from being a respectable team again. Smart move is to kill yourself now and avoid the misery of watching the next 820 games.
1. The Burrard Street Bridge
You know what’s better than driving through downtown Vancouver along Burrard during rush hour? A painless death. Since you can’t throw yourself off the Burrard Street Bridge anymore (thanks to those shiny, new, beautiful suicide-prevention barriers) you’ll have to get creative. Driving head-on into traffic is out of the question because the maximum velocity for a car on Burrard has not exceeded 20km per hour for over a year. But there is a silver lining; the slow-moving traffic gives you plenty of time to brainstorm new and exciting ways to end it all.
I think it’s only right that you use the suicide barrier against itself. Abandon your Tesla Model X in traffic and climb to the apex of the steel arch that supports the bridge and jump onto the brand new suicide barrier. (It’s made of jagged spikes, you’ll be impaled no problem!) Look, I know, it sounds difficult. Ascending the steel structure while struggling with depression won’t be easy but as my grandmother used to say, “Where there’s a suicide will, there’s a suicide way.” The interlocking steel grid is kinda like a ladder, so it’s a little bit of Spider-man to the top and the world is your ashtray. Who cares about negative equity on a one-bedroom condo when 75 virgins await?