If this was a Saturday Evening Post kind of world, Upper Canada Transportation would have a rich history stretching back 100 years or more. It would be a company that started out transporting immigrant men to the newly laid railway lines and women and children to the family homestead. It would have a tradition of supporting the arts, unwed mothers and unwanted pets. Several of the prominent leaders of the company would be members of the Order of Canada and own large collections of Group of Seven paintings. But it doesn't; we're not; we don't; and we can't. Norman Rockwell is no longer with us and Upper Canada Transportation is a player in the dog-eat-dog transportation business of this new century.
Awise man once said that the only person despised more in a society than a lawyer is a taxi-cab driver. The problem is that I am really good at what I do. And I don't apologize for being good. I am young, hungry and fast - kind of like a greyhound; but not really because greyhounds aren't all that good at strategic planning. Maybe more like a cheetah because they're fast and they think; but cheetah sounds like cheater and that's a bad thing. So I have the hunger and speed of the cheetah and greyhound, and the brain of, let's say, an owl - not a pretty beast to look at but neither am I, and hell this isn't a beauty contest anyway. And as long as I am doing great work what do you care if you've got some weird cat/dog thing with a bird's head driving you to the airport.