Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Who is Trevor?

If you have been keeping up with my blog, a short while ago I posted an entry called Trevor and the Tripod. It was gross. It was funny. And you didn't really need to know who Trevor was. However, as my entries continue to trickle in, there will be further mention of Trevor. So why not post a bit of a biography about the man...the legend...the impossible Trevor.

My days at Meadowbrook Deliveries started when Shannon's brother (and at the time my Five Star Video co-worker) Darren met Trevor through reasons I do not recall and started working for the service. Darren told me all about how wonderful it was and how the pay was better, so I figured it couldn't hurt to try. That's how I met Trevor. One day, Mr. Trevor Wong came into the video store to rent a movie. Darren introduced me and Trevor and I got to talking about Meadowbrook Deliveries. By the end of the conversation, I was hired.

Trevor was a tall man. I would say 6'1" or 6'2". I was taller, but not by much...thus my guess. He had thick black hair that was always parted in the middle. It had a wave to it that curved down over his forehead on the left side. Trevor wore enormous aviator-style glasses that had that old school automatic tinting that never really worked properly. The glasses were propped upon a nose that was shaped a great deal like a penis. His eyes were always just two curved lines...partially because he was Asian but mostly because he was always grinning like a maniac.
It's true. Trevor's smile was like a Glasgow smile (i.e. Dark Knight Joker) without the scarring. It stretched far and wide. And he was always smiling.
Trevor always wore the same outfit, as I mentioned in the previous blog entry. It was always a light coloured t-shirt (usually white) under a grey vest. The vest was made of a wool-like material that tended to pill (get fuzzies on it) as a result (I'm sure you know what I mean). I know he wore tighty whiteys (as per a very unfortunate encounter at his home late one evening when I had to pay him his coordination fee). Over that he wore the same blue gym shorts. These shorts were made of a flimsy material and so they tended to flap and flail around in the wind. If a gust came through, the leg hole would rise and twist just enough to let his junk dangle out. Sometimes, his goods popped out to say hello without a breeze as well (see Trevor and the Tripod).
Trevor had massive calves. Like disproportionately large for the rest of his body. It was like he suffered a massive wasp attack in that area. And they were taut. You could see the muscle (while he was not muscular) even through his white sports socks that were always yanked up as far as they could go. His sister and niece had the same thing, so it was almost certainly a genetic issue). To top off the outfit, he wore a pair of old white running shoes.
In winter, he'd trade up the shorts for a pair of light khaki cargo pants and would wear a really puffy winter jacket of which we, his employees, made fun (Michelin Man jokes abound!). In the rainy season, he'd wear a yellow jacket that Bob affectionately named the "pee jacket."

To set the record straight, Trevor was a nice guy. He was friendly and was rarely antagonistic or in a bad mood. He was a fun boss. A likable boss. A caring boss. And admittedly a crazy-as-fuck boss.
Trevor had an odd voice. It was hard to explain but easy to mimic, and even to this day Bob and I will talk in the voice from time to time. It was so strange that I even went so far as to record Trevor talking in secret just so I could get some voice samples for prosperity. And yes, I still have them. Some aspects of his way of speaking were how he often extended words. Instead of saying something like "Oh, that sounds good," he would say "ohhhhhhhh, that sounds goooooood!" Also, Trevor had a penchant for the word "guy." He'd use it in place of our names frequently.

Trevor owned and operated the delivery service. The overhead costs were relatively low for him. He owned two crappy cellular phones that were outdated by about five years when I knew him. One was a flip phone and the other your standard phone for the time. Both were on separate contracts and he would call forward one cell to the other so that all client calls came in to whatever phone he happened to be using. He had purchased a few no-name delivery warmer bags for the trunk in case a particular pizza store client was short on bags.
Lastly, Trevor purchased a crappy CB radio system. There were three or four units shared among the drivers and Trevor. Any other drivers would be given the secondary cell phone so Trevor could call orders into that driver, or the drivers would use their own phones. Trevor seemed to prefer "call signs" for the drivers using the radios for some reason. It was completely unnecessary. Driver names were Dave, Darren, and Ronnie (Veronika), so it's not like we'd mishear him. But he insisted. Trevor chose 99 as his call number, after Wayne Gretzky. I was 0. I didn't like the call system and all the good numbers (i.e. 69) were taken, so I cheated. I was HUGE into Smashing Pumpkins at the time and so I took the song title (and character name from that song) Zero and used that. But I digress.

When an order would come in, Trevor would alternate between drivers so that everyone got equal work. When it was my turn, I'd hear on the radio an iconic "Zeeeeeeeeeee-rooooooooooh." I knew it was my turn. Trevor was light on the details. He'd say where I had to go to pick up whatever I had to pick up, and then whether the order was going to the east or west side of the city. The rest was usually a fun mystery. But mystery made the job all the more fun. Stay glued to my blog for future delivery service stories!

Trevor was a bit of a short circuit. His brain was wacked, and it got worse and worse as I knew him. I'm pretty sure that is the result of the excessive aspartame consumption that Trevor had. He literally would go through one or two 2-litre bottles of Diet Coke in any given evening. I recall going into his "bedroom" (actually a section of his sister's unfinished basement that had wood planks against the frame rather than real walls) and seeing dozens of cans and bottles (empty of course) of Diet Coke strewn haphazardly around. You can read about the proven effects of aspartame on the brain on your own time. But most people know it frazzles the brain. And Trevor was a perfect case.

He wasn't rendered stupid by any means. But his judgment was off and his decision making was flawed at times. He would sometimes forget certain workers were working and not give them work. He would change his mind at the drop of a dime. He would often approach things in a less-than-logical manner.

But say what you will about him, he was a happy guy. And while you could ask for more from a boss (like consistency or guaranteed hours), you couldn't ask for a nicer or more understanding one.

So hats off to Trevor. The weirdest dude I've ever known. And let's use Trevor as a constant reminder of the effects of aspartame and probably lack of oxygen in the womb.

Now you know about Trevor. Now you know what to expect from him in my tales from the past. And in case you need more, now you can see a picture I drew up on the computer of what he looks like:

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