As Canada's entrepreneurship collapses, a news organization owned by richest family in Canada thanks to inheritance is vilifying success and the most innovative company that's pioneering a whole industry.
The toxic mindset of this country.
๐ง๐ฅ๐๐ก๐๐๐ก๐: Dunkinโ Donuts had the best Super Bowl commercial starring Ben Affleck, Tom Brady, and Jennifer Aniston.
What an epic blast from the past ๐ฅ๐ญ
@DaBearsTakeOver Exhibit A of what's wrong with the NFL when this gets overlooked but Gervon Dexter inadvertently bumps Rams OL and gets flagged for 15 yards.
What you are actually doing here is to bribe nokia to put these jobs into Canada by paying hundreds of thousands of dollars per job from taxpayer money. What this does is to lower the cost basis of nokia per employee. This has been going on for decades, called FDI which all civil servants think is a good thing. I spent a lot of time explaining to civil servants in ottawa that its not good for our economy that American and Oversees branch offices can employ Canadians at half the cost to all the canadian companies around them due to these subsidies. We should not do them at all, they are toxic, at least in the tech sector.
It's never meat to be this way, but the situation that very often arises is: It's strictly worse inside of Canada to be a Canadian company compared to a company headquartered everywhere else.
This is a bad situation, because the fruits of the subsidized labor will accrue to the wealth of other countries and not Canada. It's tax payer money invested into locking up scarce high tech talent in jobs where they no longer contribute to the Canadian economy directly. Why
"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.
Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.
One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.
Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.
Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"
"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."
He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."
The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."
Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.
But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,
"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."
So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.
Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."
Let this story reach more hearts....
Credit: Mary Nelson