“Use or lose it,” he said.

A few days prior to giving that advice, the ortho surgeon at Sunnybrook had used 16 screws and three metal plates to bolt my leg back together. Now he was telling me to keep moving or risk facing more future hardware from Home Depot.

That was 10 years ago. So, I walk. And walk and walk. A lot.

But this post isn’t about my bionic limb. Just where it took me the other day, walking down an Old Town street, where I was assaulted.

No sidewalks, so I trudged along the road’s edge, passing a parked vehicle. It started to move forward, into my side. I thumped with my gloved hand to alert the driver, expecting him to stop and wave me on.

He stopped alright. Then a guy about my age exploded from the driver’s door, cussing me out for hitting his truck.

“I saw you,” he yelled. He pushed me back. Then he punched me in the chest. I stumbled back, grabbed my phone, snapped a picture and got the hell out of there.

He drove behind me closely as I walked away, horn blaring.

When they questioned him that night he lied to the cops, of course. “Says he never touched you,” the constable reported, “and felt threatened you’d enter his vehicle.”

I think the officer was a tad amused at the thought of two old guys in conflict. I decided to let it drop, after learning more. He was a neighbour.

Who was it?

Rambo whacked me in front of his own home. He’s a long-time NOTL resident. A business operator, I discovered. In fact, he owns a bevy of properties nearby, including short-term vacation rentals.

I showed my combat picture to a few people that I see routinely. “Oh yeah,” they said immediately. “We know him.”

But wait. The weirdness continued.

This time, days later, it was Queen Street at the grocery store entrance. Another driver sliced into a parking spot, inches away from me as I went to cross the street. I gave him The Look. And that was all it took.

“So, you’re a tough guy?” he said, whiskers from my nose after jumping out of the car. He was huge.

“What’d I do,” I asked?

“You looked at me,” he said. “You’re lucky my wife’s in the car or you’d be in trouble.”

It was like a failed movie script. I chuckled. Big mistake. “So take a swing at me, tough guy,” he said. “And see what happens.”

“Sorry, no,” I muttered. “That’s not what civilized people do.”

“Are you calling me uncivilized?” He got closer. Louder.

Time to de-escalate. I took off my toque, introduced myself by name and said I’d never look at him again. He went quiet. Stepped back. Then shook my hand. And we broke off.

Walking away I wondered if it was my throbbing alpha-male animalistic vibes that had caused these scenes. But, nah, I’m harmless. It’s deeper.

People respond with anger, aggression and the need to lash out when they’re insecure and under threat. Not by an old dude with a dodgy leg, but by circumstances. Finances. The economy. Chicken in the store at $21 that used to be $14. Mortgage renewals at double the rate. Layoffs thanks to tariffs. Houses nobody can afford. Adult kids who can’t leave home. Spouses who expect more. It’s almost always about money.

Shopkeepers on the street say they’re hopeful for good Christmas sales, but worry. Anxiety and uncertainty pervade. Real estate has ground to a halt.

So many folks are expecting a recession that they may just cause one. And lately, as reported here, we’ve seen the immigrant-haters come to town and flourish, because you always need someone else to blame.

Even a guy walking by. But be careful. He might write about it.