NOTES FROM THE SCOTCH COLONY
Ho ho ho, bah humbug!
by Robert LaFrance
“Tis
the season to be Polly!” shouted my old friend Paul LeGrand, nickname Polly, as
he was doing some last-minute Christmas shopping in Perth-Andover’s dollar
store.
Polly
was happy to be nearly finished his shopping for another year, except for one
minor problem – it was Christmas Eve and he hadn’t bought anything yet. “I’ve
almost started,” he said, as he perused the discount store. He had yet to buy a
present for his wife Carnal (known as Carnie to her acquaintances, for obvious
reasons) and he was getting slightly worried. The store would close in another
ninety minutes.
I
had some shopping of my own to do, so it was an hour and a quarter before I got
back that way. I had gone into Cannabis NB for a gift for my cousin Vinnie so
sugarplums could dance in his head, and I had bought a new bible for Elf
Landon, whose old St. James book had come to Canada in 1873, and I had made a
few other purchases before I arrived at the dollar store. Polly’s Gremlin was
still parked there.
He
was just coming out. “All finished!” he said triumphantly. “I finally got
Carnie’s gift.” He reached into the small shopping bag and brought out a can
opener, a key chain and two little bottles of chili powder. “Six dollars,” he
said. “I don’t think I’ve ever spent that much.”
How
lucky a man he is, I thought to myself (which is my favourite way, as comedian
Martin Mull used to say). I have to buy for my wife and a teeming mass of four
more people. Of course my eldest daughter buys it all with my money but I write
on the tags. There’s nothing like the Christmas spirit for me.
***************
Received
my December hydro bill yesterday and decided to mortgage our house and sell the
dog.
Geez,
I thought heat pumps were supposed to pay for themselves in only a few years.
At this rate they will pay for themselves by the turn of the decade, like 2030,
but on the other hand global warming should make them obsolete anyway. Why
should we need heat pumps when the average temperature in late January is
expected to be 23ºC?
Speaking
of the costs of things, I started craving fried baloney early this morning and
by 11:00 am it was an obsession crossed with a fervent desire.
I
passed the hamburger section, the salmon and shellfish section and the sausage
section of the local grocery store to find myself at the baloney section. Only
it wasn’t the baloney section any more, it was the BOLOGNA section. Also, there
were two armed guards and a huge German shepherd dog standing there.
Looking
up over the dog’s shoulder, I could see why all those guards were needed. One
roll of ‘bologna’ that weighed perhaps a kilogram (2.2 pounds) would cost me
$14.99 if I were to buy it. I decided not to and moved along to the potato chip
area. The chips were reasonable in price, and, looking back to where I had just
visited, I was pleased to see that the German shepherd was tearing into a small
roll of bologna while the armed guards were trying to beat him away with their
Uzi machine gun butts.
Walking
outside with my paid-for groceries (no baloney), I noticed a Brinks armoured
truck parked by the side entrance. Two Uzi-wielding guards were watching a
third guard as he brought out a small box marked ‘Bologna’.
It
was all rather unsettling because I remember when I was a kid growing up in
Tilley, baloney was considered the ‘other side of the tracks’ kind of meat.
Most of the adults, who didn’t know much anyway, called it New Brunswick Steak.
From
the grocery store I drove over to the pharmacy, which used to be a drug store,
to get some eggs that were on sale that day.
That’s
what I said, eggs for sale at a drugstore. Looking around, I noticed that the
‘pharmacy’ also had bread for sale, chain saws and I have a feeling that if I
had looked around some more, I would have found they were selling chainsaws and
real estate. It’s all very confusing for an old person.
Arriving
at the counter with my eggs, I was asked if I had a Trident card, a Freedom
card or a Pharmadoodle card (I think that’s what she said) and if I wanted to
pay by VISA, Mastercard, debit card, American Express, Canadian Express,
Albanian Express or several others that I can’t remember and I said ‘cash,
please’. There were three clerks there and two customers in line and they were
all stunned into silence. I could hear someone say: “Should I call Security?”
Finally,
having paid for my eggs, I left the store, the pharmacy, and gratefully got
into my 2001 Toyota Tercel for the 20-kilometre trip home. My wife met me at
the door. “The frying pan is all ready for your baloney,” she said.
I
told her I was just going to my office and didn’t want to talk to anyone until
January 2nd. I didn’t mention that I had made another stop – at the
place where they sell Scotch whisky. I will see you in the new year.-end-
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