There’s something inherently uneasy about the relationship between Canadians and summer. For starters, summer seems to be an all or nothing proposition in the Great White North. You either get it or you don’t. Getting it, as it turns out, is almost as much a mental exercise as a physical reaction.
Back in the old country — Toronto and Montreal — they’re getting it. Of course, now that they’ve got it, many of them don’t want it. Those so equipped are scurrying back inside where the air is conditioned, filtered, cooled and capable of being breathed without first cutting it with a knife and swallowing it off a fork.
Those who don’t have air conditioning and those who can’t or won’t pay $20 to see a tepid movie based on an insipid television show from their childhood are getting it too. If they’ve learned the hard way, or are just cautious Canadians, they’re getting it through a thick application of Crazy Canuck SPF 54-40 that adds a three-dimensional sheen to their fluorescent white skin. Unlike their wussy brethren, they consider the thick, torpid air nutritional and are eating their fill at local beaches, restaurants, patios and stuck in traffic while their life savings are exhausted through their tailpipes.
Summer’s here and the time is right for burnin’ in the streets.
On the left coast, summer seems once again to be a no-show. It was 5º when I woke up this morning and after several hours shivering in front of a computer screen I was trying to warm my hands on, checking every few minutes to make certain it was still the second week of June and not the second week of October, I finally snapped, crept downstairs and sighing heavily in defeat, relit the furnace. It was either that or watch mildew grow on the inside walls as I shivered my way to a slow death.
I’m still wearing pretty much the same clothes I skied in all winter.
This perpetual weather tease — too cold, too hot, neither extreme as rewarding as we hoped it would be when we were mired in its opposite — gives rise to a peculiar kind of Canadian schadenfreude . As Canadians, we’re far too polite and collective to take real pleasure in the misfortune of others. We feel everybody’s pain; their concerns are our concerns. But we can, under extreme stress, particularly a virulent bout of Canadian Weather Stress, allow ourselves to be mildly amused at the perceived misfortunes of others, especially others with whom we tend not to be particularly empathetic. And if we can couple this uncharacteristic amused feeling with a healthy dose of National Identity, which is to say something that makes us feel both different and morally superior to our southern neighbours, well, all the better.
Such was the case this past week when Parks Canada bent over backwards to acceded to the wishes of their disgruntled employees. Unfortunately, the employees, who were agitating to be allowed to carry sidearms, had never heard the old proverb about being careful what you wished for.
In typically Canadian bureaucratic fashion, the drama began to unfold nearly a decade ago when a warden at Banff National Park filed a complaint about Parks Canada making him work in dangerous situations where he had no ability — save his wits and radio — to protect himself. Seems being a barrier to illegal activity, poaching for example, was always considered a part of a Parks warden job.
“Ya want us to enforce the law, give us guns,” was the basis of the complaint.
There is a scene in the Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup where Groucho, playing Rufus T. Firefly, leader of Freedonia, is informed by the country’s minister of labour that the workers are demanding shorter hours. “Very well, we’ll give them shorter hours,” Groucho replies. “We’ll start by cutting their lunch hour to 20 minutes.”
Obviously somebody in Parks Canada was a Marx Brothers fan.
Instead of layin’ in a supply of guns and swagger and arming the wardens, Parks Canada relieved them of their federal law enforcement duties and told them to call the real police if they got wind of any illegal acts.
D’oh!
The wardens, and their union, were undeterred. Apparently as unfamiliar with the schoolyard taunt, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me,” as they were with the Marx Brothers, they regrouped and tried a new tactic. Notwithstanding they were no longer responsible for law enforcement, the wardens took a good look around and what they saw reminded them of yet another familiar saying. If it looks like a duck….
“Hey, wait a minute. We’re dressed like cops, we drive cars with lights on top and shields on the doors. Hell, we even wear Smokey the Bear hats. People might mistake us for cops so — you can guess what’s coming next — we ought to have guns.”
Happiness is a warm gun.
Figuring what made sense once might make sense again, Parks Canada — you can, again, guess what’s coming next — took away the paramilitary uniforms and dressed the wardens in baseball caps and T-shirts like other Parks employees… the ones who clean outhouses, for example. They also took the lights off their cars and shields off the doors and, if they’re stupid enough to go back to that well a third time, will probably have them riding three-wheel bicycles with jingle bells on the handlebars.
“We’re just trying to meet the union demands,” said a Parks spokesperson, stifling a snigger.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the border, the National Rifle Association — Motto: Shoot first; questions just slow you down — has almost convinced the federal government to allow visitors to national parks, wildlife refuges and national monuments to carry concealed weapons. For personal protection… against, presumably, other visitors packin’ heat.
There’s more than just a geopolitical border separating the two countries, folks.
Much as that news warmed me up on a cold day, it was nothing compared to the bonfire lit in my heart when I heard CTV had purchased the CBC Hockey Night in Canada theme song. Having finally found a scandal that would engage the nation’s attention even more than Julie Couillard’s left breast, I was expecting a whole summer of whining on CBC television and radio from every half-wit who believed that tepid jingle was iconic or at least as important an anthem as O Canada. Okay, it may well be more melodic than O Canada but frankly, if CBC can swing Stompin’ Tom’s Hockey Song the whole country will be better off for it. Not to mention a couple of million bucks richer.
Oh baby, this must be what hot flashes — or real summer days — feel like.
