SAINTS PRESERVE US

Tripping Over a Low-set Bar

Well, gee, how hard can it be? There exists today a cynicism regarding politics and governance. Public service is no longer a calling for the best and the brightest. My father instilled in me a sort of ‘Live and Let Die’ work ethic: “If you’ve got a job to do, you’ve got to do it well.” Consequently I tend to admire people who are good at what they do, whatever that may be. Perhaps more importantly I tend to respect people who try their best however ill-suited they may be for their task whilst praying they may never be elevated beyond their base level of incompetence.

No facial hair. I have never held a job that fit neatly into its shift or office hours. There was always the commute and what I brought back home after a bad day or night. Union meetings. The uniform had to be cleaned and sometimes ironed. Yawning in a printing plant at three o’clock in the morning while awaiting another signature pull of an annual report or restaurant menu was the absolute apex of my career in advertising. Every job comes with tacit duties and obligations outside its stated parameters. This is how things get done. And then there’s public office.

Our officials, the faces of our various levels of government, seem to believe the taxpayer gravy train has led them to some sort of ‘Sunset Boulevard’ trough. They can get ready for their close-ups on the people’s time, nine-to-five. Thing is, public office is improv, always on. The job demands the live-long day. And night, if required. These are the hidden costs of a calculated career choice.

The public eye is a harsh spotlight. In this current era of social media-fuelled hair-trigger outrage, it’s a laser. Zap! You’re eviscerated! Those who will be judged must demonstrate judgment, an iota, a modicum, an ounce, a shred of it. Anything. And yet…

I’ve carried a Bruce Springsteen lyric in my heart through the decades: “When you’re alone, you ain’t nothing but alone.” I admire the simplicity of its truth, its vernacular. Our traditional holiday season can be hard on some. Always has been. Amid a pandemic, another layer of isolation, even the fortunate among us prepared ourselves to endure the pain of separation, a diseased disruption of what we’ve always done. No social gatherings indoors or out. For God’s sake, do not travel; God knows what viral strain will hitch a ride back. Weddings have been postponed, funerals streamed from empty chapels. We’re all in this together. Do not pass the cranberry sauce.

There are 38 million Canadians. And we all get fed up with winter about a week in, around Christmastime. We’re like Canada geese, snowbirds flying south. But, gee, the border is pretty much closed. Despite advisories and pleas from Ottawa and the provincial capitals to Canadians to avoid jet setting, an alarming number of politicos, ministers and minions, people who should know better, have jetted off to more temperate climes since the pandemic hit last March.

Some people believe covid-19 is a hoax or maybe something akin to the common cold. My older sister, a doctor who’s since come out of retirement because of the pandemic, would be delighted to guide skeptics through an Intensive Care Unit operating beyond its designated capacity. No need for gowns, gloves or masks! Curious tourists can see ventilators in action and even change patients’ bedding! Way too much interactive fun!

My favourite guilty party is Alberta’s, wait for it, Assistant Minister of Cutting Red Tape (honest). I want that title on a business card. If I’d known such a career opportunity existed, my life might’ve unrolled very differently. Second prize goes to Ontario’s finance minister who tweeted fireside chats from his home riding of Ajax whilst frolicking on the luxury beaches of St. Bart’s. Apparently, one of the perks of public service is a sense of entitlement; alas, neither common sense nor quiet, steady leadership abilities are qualifications.

meGeoff has been your most unreliable, unbalanced and inaccurate alternative source of head shaking since 2013. Sign up for e-mail alerts from the Crooked 9, use that thingy on the right. The second wave along with its more virulent cousin is here and so is winter; you’ll need a distraction.