A poor man’s vacation is a peculiar journey, one that demands either working in the destination visited or relying on credit, leading to future sacrifices. Yet, the allure of immediate gratification often outweighs the looming pain. On such trips, surprises abound, like finding blood on fresh linens at a cheap hotel—a grim institution of sorts. Sleeping on beds with plastic covers under the sheets, meant to protect the mattress from your blood when a drug cartel hitman murders you in your sleep, is a stereotype that feels all too real.

In the midst of these struggles, an ex once suggested I read a self-help book to become a more emotionally regulated man. It felt like New Age propaganda, especially compared to her choice of literature—a book called “Cunt.” I resented the expectation to read tame self-improvement garbage while she indulged in radical feminist texts about crushing the patriarchy. Why was my manhood in question? Sure, I was struggling to find a job and graduate from university, but I eventually succeeded. Why should I accept her standard of masculinity if she wouldn’t accept any standard of femininity?

But what do I know, I believe, if God can make a woman from a man’s rib, why prevent a doctor from making a dick from her elbow?

One of the most surprising yet least objectionable opinions I encountered while working pipeline in Alberta was from a coworker who believed Stephen Hawking was a charlatan spreading disinformation about the universe. It shocked me that a brilliant scientist with ALS could inspire anything other than sympathy and admiration. This coworker, however, held nothing but contempt for Hawking and, to my dismay, expressed admiration for Elon Musk. Yes, Elon Musk—the billionaire who bootlegged the science of geniuses like Hawking to become a rocket tycoon. Like, really dude? Although he didn’t outright say he was a flat earther it was likely an unfortunate truth. He also had the worst teeth I’ve ever seen so he was perhaps a fluoride in toothpaste skeptic too.