Goodbye Canadian Tire Guy

Goodbye Canadian Tire Guy
By DAVID MENZIES


Many have mocked him in his passing, but the multi-tastking, condescending handyman was, like it or not, us


Canadian Tire Guy, the multi-tasking, condescending handyman who wowed us over most of the last decade with his vast selection of power tools and his propensity to remain calm no matter how daunting the job, passed away earlier this month. He was assassinated by the venerable mass-merchandiser he lovingly pitched for after it was decided that Canadian Tire needed to go with "something new, something fresh, something different."

Canadian Tire Guy is mourned by his long-neglected wife, Canadian Tire Gal, a soccer mom without equal. Under trying circumstances, she maintained the façade of domestic bliss while married to Canadian Tire Guy. Yet, for those who knew her, Canadian Tire Gal was consumed with a smouldering, albeit unanswered passion, a hint of which could be gleaned by gazing into her beckoning bedroom eyes. So it was that she would sometimes be spotted in Canadian Tire ads gleefully riding her trusty Ski-Doo.

Ostensibly, the snowmobiling trek was meant to demonstrate another whiz-bang MotoMaster product. But in reality, thanks to straddling a vibrating vehicle boasting an 800-cc, 4-stroke engine, Canadian Tire Gal was able to adroitly satiate a certain constant craving-a craving that all too often went unanswered by Canadian Tire Guy. Alas, so obsessed was Canadian Tire Guy with his Mastercraft tools that he never did find the time to visit an Adults Only Video store to purchase the kind of tools Canadian Tire Gal so dearly craved. Yet, Canadian Tire Guy knew how to unplug a toilet and fix a flat, and that skill set made him endearing.

Canadian Tire Guy will also be missed by his son, Bobby. Striving to be a laudable role model, Canadian Tire Guy always gave Bobby a mint condition Canadian Tire catalogue hot off the press. He taught his child well, preaching that anything he wanted in life could easily be found in aisles 5 through 10 at Canadian Tire. And he cautioned young Bobby to resist the siren call of flashy Yankee retail harlots like Home Depot. Bobby tried acquiescing, but with the advent of puberty, he found himself drawn to other catalogues, such as those from The Bay and Sears, which offered several pages devoted to women's brassieres. Bobby remains consumed with guilt.

Canadian Tire Guy will also be missed by his neighbours, a collection of self-confessed mechanical morons presumably living under the Witness Protection Program (Canadian Tire Guy's address remains a mystery, although it is known that a Canadian Tire store is located conveniently nearby). While always grateful for Canadian Tire Guy's tireless advice, some neighbours came to resent the Mr. Know-It-All smugness that came with it. Yet, now that Canadian Tire Guy has passed away, the neighbours ponder how they will cope next time Ma Nature flexes her muscles. Who will inform them of the MotoMaster Precise Fit Teflon Windshield Wipers? Who will steer them in the direction of the Oskar 3-in-1 Snow Brush? Disaster looms!

Agreed, there are some charlatans who are rejoicing that Canadian Tire Guy is dead. He will not be mourned by Canada's hairstylists: his hair and beard were always perfectly trimmed, thanks, of course, to various Mastercraft gardening tools that adroitly doubled as barber equipment.

The manufacturers of automobiles will not miss Canadian Tire Guy, either, given that he single-handedly taught a nation of commuters how to extend the lives of their beleaguered beaters.

But most will indeed mourn his passing. This includes a legion of Internet bloggers who wished Canadian Tire Guy mortal harm. Now that their wish has been granted, these bloggers suddenly find themselves without meaning in life; they are now akin to a legion of Lex Luthors living in a Metropolis devoid of Superman.

He will be missed, too, by a vast array of Ottawa-based bureaucrats and social engineers. Indeed, Canada's version of Ned Flanders-a tool belt-equipped wuss-was the perfect mascot for a country that has become emasculated. Alas, I speak of the true north strong and free, a place where Police Forces are now called "Police Services"; a nation in which the physical testing standards for female Armed Forces recruits are purposefully watered down in an attempt to make our army a little less kick-ass and a lot more gender-equal. I could go on.

Oh, Canada. Oh, Canadian Tire Guy. You shall be dearly missed.

DAVID MENZIES is a Toronto writer. His "Consumer Guy" column appears every two weeks.