I'm not sure why this popped into my head, but it did, so I thought I would share with you. I see you, you know. "Oh! Goody!", you're saying as you clutch that mug of tea, or coffer or... what IS that you're drinking? I also know that you're a busy person, so I'll make it quick.
As I remember this story, I'm also realising that it may be one of the reasons I have such a personal, inherent distrust of "democratic governments". I know. I know. The other options are sooooo much worse. I don't want Idi Amin. I don't want Noriega. Actually, an Idi Amin-type could be interesting, but... no. Maybe not. I want a government that can actually figure out the etymology of the word "democracy" and I want people who can be illuminated enough to not put Hitler in power.
I'm digressing, aren't I? Sorry.
It was 1989. I had won an essay contest at school (by "won", I mean "was the only person who had submitted to") and the Dartmouth Rotary Club sent me packing on a trip to our Capital City. Ottawaaaaaaaah. That's a yawn sound. try it. I'm kidding. Ottawa is actually rather nice, as far as Capital Cities go. It was called "Adventures in Citizenship". I was to go experience what it meant to be a Canadian, even though I was not yet of legal drinking age. It was the first time I flew by myself. It was also the first time I learned that you don't make bomb jokes in airports, which is why I suppose parents fly with their kids in the first place. To stop them from making bomb jokes... and joining the the Autoerotic Mile High Club.
We sat in Parliament, we looked at tulips. We did Ottawa-type things that I can no longer remember. And then, we went to Rideau Hall. "What the hell is Rideau Hall", you ask. You google it. The answer confuses you and you tell yourself, "This guy is a nonsensical jerk!". You finish your tea, coffee... What the HELL is that?!?! You get dressed, go about your day and forget this ever happened. I wish you shelter from the storm. Rideau Hall is the Governor General's official residence, by the way.
It was May 7th, actually. I had forgotten that part. It was my birthday.
It had been a long day. The tour guide was showing us the opulent luxury that non-elected officials get to live in during their term. I yawned a bit, despite the anger that burned inside me. "Who the hell gets to live like this just because their somebody's chum?" kept running through my mind. At one point, the guide said "The important thing to remember is that this is not the GG's house. It is every Canadian's house!". "PERFECT!", I thought. If it was my house, I could finally sit down! So I did. I still remember how cushy that chair was, 22 years later. So cushy...
"GET OFF OF THAT CHAIR!", yelled the guide as everyone turned to look at me.
"Why?", I responded (not getting up).
"Because you can't sit on it!"
"But you just said it was mine!"
"It's not. You can't sit there."
"BUT YOU JUST SAID IT WAS MINE!"
This is when security came. Not a rent-a-cop security, mind you. The man-in-black security. They glided over to the chair (have you ever noticed that? Secret service types always "glide"). They told me to get up. I refused, explaining that the tour guide had just explained that this chair was mine, as a taxpayer. Now that I look back on the incident, I imagine everyone was rather annoyed with me. I'm not sure what I was trying to prove, exactly, but I thought it was ridiculous and unfair and I thought everyone should know that. I finally got up, walked out of Rideau Hall and waited on the bus as the tour finished.
Later that evening, at dinner, some of the organizers came up to me and told me what I'd done was not very nice. I tried to explain my reasoning, but they weren't very receptive. They told me to knock it off. And I did.
But it's interesting to me that I remember this story so vividly, because I feel it really sums up what is wrong with the system. This "of the people" bit is really just lip service to mask the fact that a privileged, aristocratic mindset is really at the base of most democracies. We need to do something about this. What can we do?
Actually, the moral of this story is that I'm annoying and it seems that I have been for a long time. Also: Comfortable chairs stay lodged in your memory.
Be good to yourselves,
j.
( I don't have time to proofread this right now and I'm posting it anyway. Because I'm rash. I don't HAVE a rash anymore, but... Ah. Nevermind.)
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