The Canadian Enterpreneur Series Part 1: Has Anyone Seen Bob

By Tony DeSouza

A True Story of sex and intrigue in the Canadian business environment in the seventies and eighties. In this book there are two segments that meld into one episode. The first deals with the sequence of events in the life of the author and his family following arrival in their new homeland. How they were able to meld into the Canadian mosaic in spite of heavy odds.The second deals with the author’s success at his workplace and life in the manufacturing environment. He discovered that behind the screen of normal business behavior, there was always sex, drugs, profanities and intrigue. I hope that my experiences and success will be an inspiration to others. I sincerely hope that I have provided you the reader with some valuable tips and encouragement to success along the way.Read my comments at the end of each chapter. Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365363450

Book preview

Series

Part 1: Has Anyone Seen Bob

The Canadian Entrepreneur Series

Part 1: Has Anyone Seen Bob

Year created:  2016 Revised: 2021

Author: Tony DeSouza

Copyright:

Publication without the author’s permission is strictly prohibited.

ISBN 978-1-365-36345-0

Introduction

This book is based on events that actually occurred. However, the characters are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

In this book there are two segments that meld into one episode.

The first segment deals with the sequence of events in the life of the author and his family following arrival in their new homeland. This includes their struggle to obtain employment; financing the purchase of a house and raising a family. How they successfully meld into the Canadian mosaic.

The second segment deals with the author’s experiences with the events at his workplace and life in the manufacturing environment in the seventies and eighties. He discovered that behind the screen of normal business behavior, there was always sex, drugs, profanities and intrigue.

The views expressed are not intended to be critical of any person, community, organization or nation. It is just what the author experienced and he has mixed in a bit of humor and fiction.

I hope that my experiences will be an inspiration to the reader. As a bonus I have given my comments at the end of each chapter which I hope you will find of value.

A warning: This book is for mature adults because of the nature of its contents. Language may be offensive at times but let’s face reality; it is the everyday language in the manufacturing environment and in many homes.

My special thanks to my three children who encouraged me all the way to get this work published.

This book is dedicated to my wife, the love of my lifenus

Chapter One

Land of milk and honey

We landed at Pearson on May eighteenth, a Monday and my brother Manny was there to meet us. We were in a strange land and it was so nice to see him.

You skipped work for us? I asked.

No not really he answered It’s a holiday, the Victoria long week end.

Long week end, I was hearing this for the first time and I would hear it many more times again. You see back in the old country, we observed holidays on the day they fell and we did not have long weekends. That did not mean we worked extra days; in fact we had much more vacation days than here; a month of paid vacation for the average person was not uncommon.

Surprisingly, the custom officers were quite pleasant. We went through the checks uneventfully, maybe because we looked like a nice family, a well dressed handsome young couple with an eight month old baby girl we had named Honey. Little did anyone suspect that I was carrying six thousand US dollars in my shoes? Not even Penny. I could not risk telling her.

I had somehow transferred money earlier through a friend. We were only allowed to carry forty dollars on the flight even though we were migrating. Isn’t that ridiculous, to have to survive on such a meager sum of money, the forty dollars? But then the government had to impose restrictions or else the country would be drained of valuable foreign exchange and that would cripple the economy.

We were glad to be in Canada, land of milk and honey.

We were bringing our pet along, an English bull terrier. He was to be kept at a kennel on Albion Road, not too far from the apartment. Scruffy, that’s what we had named him, was lost. We later learned that he was still at the cargo hold at Rome’s International airport. He arrived a day later at the kennel where he was quarantined for thirty days.

Now you might wonder why we did not give our Scruffy away and why we went through all the hassle and expense. Well for two reasons. For one, Penny would not migrate unless Scruffy came along and two, we were afraid Scruffy might land in the wrong hands. We had several requests from people who were willing to pay good money for him. Why? You ask. To turn him into a prize fighter being of bull terrier breed.

My brother’s apartment was on the twelfth floor of a high rise, one of several buildings surrounding spacious lawns, a treed lot and children’s playground. The area had a pleasant family atmosphere but rumor had it that there were smugglers and drug dealers in one of the buildings as we were in close proximity to the airport.

We had the spare room to ourselves. It was comfortable under the circumstances. Besides, we spent much time at the plaza across the street or at the playground. We took Honey out every day; the poor thing would have been bored to death in the apartment.

I will always appreciate what my brother did for us as without his assistance we would not be here today. I did not wish to inconvenience him and his family any longer, so I wasted no time looking for a job. I was eager to get started and optimistic I would land one as I was a Bachelor of Commerce graduate and a Professional Accountant with a UK diploma and considerable experience.

I went to several interviews travelling by bus and subway. The buses were stuffy and crowded and I perspired and so I wore a lot of antiperspirant and deodorant. I guess, my body was not accustomed to the new environment. I saw a doctor hoping to find a solution to my problem. The doctor was a mean SOB and a bigot.

You immigrants are all the same; you perspire a lot. It is because you are so nervous.

The doctor was right in a way. I was always conscious of my surroundings which probably made me perspire a lot more. In time to come, however, I would outgrow this problem. I guess me and my body got accustomed to the new environment.

After many attempts which included several agencies and a couple of months of relentless job searching, I managed to get an interview at a manufacturing company in Scarborough. I still remember the preliminary interview at the downtown agency with this Irish fellow. I forget his name so I will refer to him simply as James, no not Bond. His words of advice still resound in my head.

You have the qualifications and experience, but that is not enough. You have to impress people. Be positive and always dress in your Sunday best.

We are talking about the seventies when people took the time to wear the best clothing to go to church. That meant I had to wear a white shirt with a tie and a suit. Yes a white shirt, one did not wear colored shirts then on a suit.

I had been to several interviews and always got the same response.

You do not have Canadian experience.

I could never understand the logic in this statement. How can you get Canadian experience if you do not get hired? Fortunately, I get this interview at the company with a guy named Sean, very Irish with the ascent and mannerism. He was a Chartered Accountant and I later discovered played a key role within the Irish community and was instrumental in organizing the annual St Patrick's Day parade. He was a friend of James at the agency so guess what, I get the job.

I did not have a car then. Once again my brother came to my rescue as luck would have it he also worked in the Scarborough area. We would drive across the city on the 401 and exit at Warden Ave and I would take the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC) bus down to Eglinton Ave. Sometimes, when I did not get a ride, I would take the TTC all the way from Etobicoke and that meant the subway, two buses and three hours of commuting,

I was too far from my work and had little time for my family.

We have to look for a house in Scarborough insisted Penny.

Penny is my wife but I should not say that as she does not like being called one.

Wife has denotations of possessiveness, like being ones slave is what she says. So I refer to her by name or as my spouse. She also does not like being called by her full name Penelope.

My brother introduced me to a gentleman who had migrated from Bombay, a Real Estate agent. He took us to see a few houses and finally to a new townhouse development in Agincourt; in the north east sector of Scarborough, atop the city of Toronto. We loved the area and the house, but I did not have the finances.

Not a problem said the agent As long as you have employment, the bank will give you a mortgage and I will arrange with my friend to get you a second mortgage to cover the shortfall.

So in August of that year, just four months after landing in Canada, we had a house of our own, were in debt with two mortgages and my commute to work was shortened after that with little or no highway travel.

The townhouse complex was in a newly developed area with plenty of large trees and spacious lawns, an ideal