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Put me down for Garry Hoy.quote:1993: Garry Hoy, a 38-year-old lawyer in Toronto, fell to his death on July 9, 1993, after he threw himself against a window on the 24th floor of the Toronto-Dominion Centre in an attempt to prove to a group of visitors that the glass was "unbreakable." The glass did not break, but popped out of the window frame.
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May 30, 2013 01:05
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| # ¿ Jul 17, 2025 07:48 |
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crabrock posted:Submission deadline: Sunday, June 1, 11:59pm USA Eastern. Is the deadline Saturday (June 1st) or is it Sunday (June 2nd)?
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Jun 2, 2013 00:39
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The Atrium (1140 words) “Ahoy, Hoy,” said Tim Bunderson as he poked his head into the office. Garry Hoy always cringed at the way Ted did that, sticking just his cranium through the gap in the door with a cutesy greeting. It had been going on for three years. And Garry wasn't a fan of the greeting, either. “You can come in, Tim, thanks.” Tim leaned a little further into the room, one shoulder jutting through now. “Do you have two secs, Hoy? There's a tour group out here. Thought you could show them around the new building, you know, vis-à-vis.” “I'm a little busy right now,” said Garry, not bothering to correct the French. “I'm just about finished the release for the General Motors thing, and it's my last chance to get in good with Mr. Shaw– “It'll only take a minute,” said Tim, shrugging that shoulder. “Why can't you do it?” “I'm heading out for a late lunch at Finnegan's. Today's Gyro Day!” And with that, Tim Bunderson slipped back out through the crack and was gone. Garry sighed and turned back to the Szalinski report. He was able to work on it for almost three uninterrupted minutes before a sunburned man rapped on the office door with a hard, loud knock. “This is the Atrium,” Garry said. There were eight or twelve in the group, all of them decked out with 'TORONTO' shopping bags and most of their faces peeling from an August day spent looking up at skyscrapers. Garry kept trying to move them along, but their pace was stuck on 'dawdle.' “Our accounts and financial teams share the space in these cubicles, and their computers are connected to each other, so they can share information, uh, without leaving their desks– “Neat!” said a spotty teenager at the edge of the pack. She pulled out a Polaroid camera and flashed it into a cubicle as they passed by. John Simpson stood up from his desk and blinked at them as the girl pulled the photo out of the camera and shook it. “Sorry,” said Garry. He looked to the girl. “Don't do that.” “Oh,” said the girl. “Right.” She blew on the Polaroid instead. “We call this area the Atrium,” said Garry, hurrying along now, giving the tourists the double-time version. “But with the floor-to-ceiling windows on all four sides of the tower, sometimes it feels like more of a greenhouse, ha ha. Over there's a photo-copier. That's made by Xerox. And now, we'll circle back to the elevators and you can be on your way.” “How many windows are on this building?” It was the man who'd knocked on Garry's door until it swung all the way open. Garry guessed that he was their de facto leader. “Uh... I'm not sure, friend.” He wasn't sure. He'd never thought about it. He didn't think he'd ever have to think about it. “Fifty floors... twenty-five... hundred?” “Wow!” said the sunburned man. He tromped along with the rest of the group, Garry squirming for them to pick up the pace. “Has anybody ever broken a window?” yelled a little kid with his arm in a cast. “Uh, no, they're unbreakable.” Garry was already at the elevator and tapping at the 'DOWN' button. “Hey, look, honey, they spell their elevator buttons with letters here,” said the leader. The teenager flashed her Polaroid at the buttons. “Nothing's unbreakable! Superman could break it!” said the kid. “I'm sure he could,” said Garry, “but he's busy on Krypton right now.” “Krypton blew up!” said the kid. Garry hammered at the button again. Where was the elevator? Tim Bunderson should be dealing with these people, not him. “Do you know any good places for dinner around here?” said the leader. Garry forced a smile. “I hear Finnegan's is all right.” There was a ding as the doors opened. “Today's Gyro Day. Well, have a good one!” “Today isn't Gyro Day!” said the kid, as they filed into the elevator. The doors were just about to close as Garry stuck his hand out to stop them. “What was that, kid?” “We went there for lunch. I saw it on the sign. It's Beef Dip Day!” Beef Dip Day. Wait a minute. Garry turned and flew from the elevator. The tourists, sensing that something good was about to happen, followed. They chattered with excitement as Garry fled to Mr. Shaw's office. “What's he doing, Jimmy?” “These windows aren't unbreakable!” “I don't know, Gladys, but I think I saw something like this in Wall Street.” “Neat!” The Polaroid flash went off again as they passed Garry's office, his door still wide open, the computer keyboard askew. He turned down a hallway, pushed through a set of double doors and ran up to the desk of Mr. Shaw's receptionist. “Is Mr. Shaw in?” asked Garry. The entourage huffed and puffed behind him. Shaw's receptionist looked up at the scene and chewed at her pen. “Mr. Shaw's in an important meeting with Tim Bunderson,” she said. “But I can pencil you in for 3:30?” Tim Bunderson. Tim Bunderson had saddled Garry with running a field trip and then snatched the General Motors thing right out from under him. “Yes, thank you, Samantha, 3:30 would be fine.” He felt a hot headache forming at his temples as he turned and walked back into the Atrium. The tourists followed. This was how it had gone for three years. The sun was shining directly through the windows now. Mr. Shaw was always passing Garry up for promotions, raises, recognition. It felt like a greenhouse in here. And somehow, this time was the worst. Because Tim Bunderson had stolen from him, and– “You ever see that movie Wall Street, Garry?” said the sunburned man. Garry turned to the tour group with a scowl on his face, his head throbbing. Things had gotten so bad that, for a second, he'd forgotten they were there. Now he remembered and things were worse. The girl flashed her Polaroid at him, fuzzing his vision. She pulled out the photo and blew on it. “I still don't think these windows are unbreakable!” said the kid. Yes they were, dammit, he'd said they were. Why take a tour from somebody if you– “...aren't going to believe anything he says?!” “What?” said the kid. “Here,” said Garry. “I'll show you. I'll prove it to you!” He smacked the window, hard, with the palm of his hand. It bonged across the Atrium. “See? Unbreakable!” He smacked it again. John Simpson stood up from the sea of cubicles and glared in their direction. “I told you the first time,” Garry said. He thumped his shoulder against the window. “Unbreakable.” He thumped it again. “Unbreakable.” He threw his whole weight against it. “Unbreak– He rode the flat, square window almost all the way to the ground. emgeejay fucked around with this message at 05:20 on Jun 3, 2013 |
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Jun 3, 2013 05:16
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crabrock posted:Ok, so this is one of my favorite real-life stories of all time ...whoops.
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Jun 4, 2013 05:16
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I'm in. It can't get any worse! (It can get exactly one degree worse.)
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Jun 5, 2013 19:04
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