Sneaking around North America
by Robert LaFrance
A guy
recently told me this story: His neighbours were on a vacation in Manitoba and
stopped for a roadside picnic during which they tied their dog to their car’s
front bumper. You can guess the rest. After about a five hundred metres, the
driver, whose name was Igor, noticed the dog’s rear end and stopped. The canine
wasn’t even winded. It was a greyhound.
You learn
something every day. (Notice that I wrote “YOU learn something every day”). I
refer to the plethora of names people use for what I call ‘sneakers’ and have
been called sneakers since I was a kid. But there are many names for
sneakers.
I asked a
friend who calls me regularly (once a decade) from Tupelo, Mississippi, and he
said everyone he knows calls them ‘tennis shoes’ and it should be made into a
law. “And furthermore I hope Donald Trump wins his battle with the forces of
evil,” he concluded. “Happy new year!”
I decided to
actually conduct some research on the matter. My uncle, Sid Google, told me
that sneakers are called tennis shoes everywhere in the U.S. (except the south
side of Chicago) and in Canada they are also called ‘running shoes’ – as if I
ever run – basketball shoes, gym shoes and, believe it or not – sneakers.
Sounds as if the forces of evil are busy on this side of that border for which
I am very thankful.
Next
subject: My mobile phone server-operator called me on Thursday morning and started a spiel. I interrupted: “Sorry,
due to high call volumes this customer is unable to deal with your call at the
moment. Your call is important to me; please stay on the line. Meanwhile, go to
hell.”
That felt
good. New Year’s Resolution #1 down and dusted.
People keep
asking me if I had had a happy and cheerful Christmas/New Years holiday and did
Santa find my credit card. My answers are succinct: No and Yes. Now go away.
One thing I
did see a lot of during the holidays was the phenomenon of able-bodied people
parking in clearly marked handicapped zones. Wherever I went I saw these people
park their Volvos, dash into store and emerge carrying a lot of stuff certainly
not destined for the space under my Christmas tree. Items marked ‘natural’ but
not made of anything Mother Nature would recognize – things like that.
Anyway, it
didn’t seem to matter where I went, these pirates where there and parking in
handicapped zones while the truly handicapped people struggled over the ice and
snow. My friend the Perfessor suggested that we place little nail filled boards
behind the tires of the illegally parked cars but I said we should go over to
my house and get rid of some Christmas 2018 surplus alcohol. He agreed. I never
had the heart to tell him that his nephew’s car was the one he was about to
‘board-nail’.
Just
reviewing some of the major events of 2019: I think that biggest one occurred
sometime during the summer when our New Brunswick government, no doubt acting
on the advice of American or Toronto consultants, decided that none of us
needed front licence plates on our cars. Well, I agree, but we also don’t need
licence plate lights, mascara and skunks in order to live a good life in New
Brunswick. Stop signs are not strictly necessary, or Coca Cola, traffic lights
or insulin, but in many cases things go better with Coke.
I could see
that in order to get to the bottom of the licence plate question I would have
to do more research. I started looking for the NB government websites with no
luck of course, then miraculously found a Google page headed: “Why New
Brunswick got rid of front licence plates”. Here is the information
fully explaining the reasoning: “Due to the high volume of requests we are
unable…please try again.” I think it was just to save money, to be fair. The
paperwork and computer hours involved were high it is true, but according to my
information from other sources, the government saved us over a hundred dollars,
quickly absorbed into the Cannabis NB deficit. Ya gotta start somewhere.
9:04 am the
next day: Today I expect to accomplish something because I have made a list. As
soon as I finish my delicious breakfast of stewed pomegranates and boiled
mussels with green tea from Malasia I plan to go outside and spread road salt
on the driveway just in case we get freezing rain in that storm predicted for
next Tuesday; first I have to go uptown and buy road salt because I just
remembered I’m all out; while I’m uptown I should get a book or two and then
sit and relax for a while after I get home. Maybe I will park at the bottom of
the driveway and read in the sunshine but I do have to get some lunch before I
spread that road salt, if I haven’t forgotten to buy it.
All this
time of talking about what I’m going to accomplish and I forgot I have to feed
the dog that guards and protects us. Then I suppose by the time I finish that
job I have to fill the kitchen woodbox with dry seasoned wood, but before I do
that I should bring wood from my outside pile to the shed.
By that
time it will be mid-afternoon and I will have to finish this column or the
editor will start calling and nagging; you know what she’s like. After that I
have to start making supper I guess, my turn, or maybe we should go to a
restaurant. I could use some roast squab and fries.
-end-
By
the time we get home it should be early enough to spread that road salt
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