The photographs have faded and yellowed over time and the scenes now look old and dated.
I came across them on the weekend, while I was sorting through some boxes at home.
They were from a couple of summers I spent working in Banff, Alta., quite a few years ago.
I spent part of one summer and all of the next doing janitorial work at one of the many hotels in that town.
The work wasn’t exciting or glamorous.
My day involved stocking supply closets, cleaning elevators, picking cigarette and cigar butts out of ash trays and vacuuming the stairs.
There were 10 sets of stairs, four storeys each, so I spent a lot of time in the stairwells.
The staff accommodations were old and had a perpetual smell of stale smoke, old food, too many bodies and not enough soap.
But the cost of a space in the staff house, at $60 a month, was just a fraction of the best rental rates in town at the time.
Even though the pay wasn’t great, it was possible to save some money.
For many of us, work at the hotel was a job with a paycheque, not a job with a future.
Some were university students working for the summer.
Others were recent high school graduates who had moved to Banff for work, since basic jobs were much easier to find there than in many other parts of Canada.
Staff turnover was high and many of the hotels, restaurants and other hospitality businesses had their Help Wanted signs up all the time.
But there were also some on staff who were stuck at places like the hotel where I worked.
They didn’t have the education or skill set to get anything beyond entry-level work.
Some, with spotty work histories or other problems, would have had a hard time landing any job elsewhere in the country.
These people left an impression on me.
I didn’t want to turn out like Cowboy Bob, in his mid-30s. He was jaded and bitter, stuck in a job he hated.
I didn’t want to end up like Bart and Greg, the yard work and maintenance guys — former hippies pining for earlier days.
And I didn’t want the life others had, simply drifting from one bottom-end job to the next.
Working at a low-paying job and living in a dingy staff house isn’t too bad for a 20-year-old, but it wouldn’t be all that great for someone who was 40 or 50. (And yes, from time to time a few older workers would join the staff for a while.)
During my time at the hotel, especially that second summer, I did a lot of thinking about my future and what I wanted for my life.
Doing janitorial work in a tourist town was great for a summer or two, but it was not a long-term plan — at least not one I could see for myself.
At the same time, I didn’t want to go to school and become a perpetual student, unprepared for life after graduation.
I remember the day that summer when I realized I wanted to write.
From that point, I was able to make plans and pursue a career goal.
The goal would take some time, but I now had the direction I needed.
Over the years, I had almost forgotten those summers at the hotel, but looking through those old pictures over the weekend brought back some memories.
I enjoyed the time I spent working at the hotel in Banff, but now, looking back, I’m glad those days are behind me.
The life I have now is so much better.
John Arendt is the editor of the Summerland Review.
