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August 19, 2004
Coming Soon: How Many Snowmobilers Will Drown?
In early January, Environment Canada forecasted a thaw. With a rash of snowmobilers who had lost their machines to the lakes, the newsroom staff of CAPT-TV had a pool. How many would die, in Ontario, from Friday at 4 p.m., to Monday at 4 a.m.
Posted by Gary MacDonell at 10:11 AM | Comments (2)
August 18, 2004
Monday, August 9th, 2004
Every thing was ready for the arrival of Evil Aunt Mary. The Owner of CAPT TV had one of the reserved parking spots at the front of the station but she seldom dropped by. Once a month was more than enough for the staff. On the rare occasions that both the handicapped spots were taken, security allowed her spot to be used. Today, it was kept clear.
Her appointment with the New Guy was scheduled for 1:30 p.m., but she was never on time. A time/event pool had been created. About two dozen of the station’s employees had given Flash the times when they thought she would show up. From his vantage point at switchboard, he would determine when she pulled in. Besides announcing her arrival, the winner could also be proclaimed.
The New Guy would already know. His office on the second floor was above the main doors and he could see whoever pulled up. He would help her present another award to their News Director. The New Guy was always nervous when the Owner arrived. Sure the station made money, always had, but each of her visits, left a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe it was her Camel Lights.
Becky was in the newsroom when everyone heard the announcement. “Congratulations to Joannie”, said Claude. Groans could be heard from the reporters who turned to look at the Captain’s secretary. She stood and bowed as an editor shouted, “Fixed.”
“I shall enjoy my free lunch tomorrow. You may all come by Table Four and I shall accept your platitudes.”
“Don’t over do it”, warned the Captain. Even 1:45 p.m. would have been OK but Evil Aunt Mary was almost 30 minutes late. A camera was waiting to shoot the presentation, making it late for an interview downtown. A reporter had already left in a cab. She was quite happy to be getting to know the author before she had to interview him in front of the camera.
The afternoon news meeting would be interrupted when the Owner walked in, but if the Captain hurried, he could have it wrapped up before she appeared. After all, she had to visit ‘Carpet City’ first.
The New Guy had raced down the stairs and was at hand to greet her. “An honour, Ma’am.”
“Yes, it is.” She never would have thought that she had an ego problem. It just seemed proper to agree with people when they made such accurately flattering remarks. “Let’s get on with it. I’m hosting a reading club this afternoon at the house.”
Relieved that he wouldn’t have to suffer another one-sided conversation with her for a half an hour, the station president led the Owner to the elevator. From there, it was a short walk through the second floor security door and into the newsroom. The Captain could see her as the New Guy opened the door at the back of the room. He ended the meeting and left the raised platform they called ‘The Bridge’.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. …”
“Please. Call me ‘Aunt’ Mary, Captain.”
With a small cough, he invited her into his office. While walking past Joan’s desk, the Owner observed how happy the secretary looked. “Why thank you, (cough) Aunt Mary. What a beautiful day.”
“I’m here to give the city’s favourite TV news anchor the Pat Windsor Award.” Windsor had been the head of Coca-Cola, a city Mayor for ten years, and then a federal cabinet Minister for Foreign Trade. Although the United States of America was Canada’s biggest trading partner, Windsor had travelled the globe and visited too many developing countries. Near chronic diarrhea complicated by constant official meals of fruit and alcohol, left Windsor with painful cramps, a dry mouth, wrinkled skin and always thirsty. He was so dehydrated, the cabinet minister was rumoured to have turned to dust and blown away when death came. Joan didn’t believe any of it.
The camera was all set up in the Museum. It was the Captain’s office but he spent most of his time at work, up on the bridge. This room was mostly used when greeting officials. The Captain kept smiling as Evil Aunt Mary lit up a smoke before the ceremony even began. The cameraman decided to roll anyway. He had plenty of Beta tape and battery power for the camera. After all, it just would not do to have anything go wrong when the Owner dropped by.
“I remember Windsor telling me that Defence was the job that no one wanted. However he had hoped for it since he thought a helicopter could ferry him back and forth from Baldwin! Once he found out how old and falling apart they were, he changed his mind. Actually, they make good weapons. I understand one copper forced a destroyer to return to port.”
“Yes. That was when it took off, gained ten feet and crashed landed; back on one of our own ships.”
“That was it. Well, shall we do this then.”
As Evil Aunt Mary was handed the plaque from the New Guy, she hesitated as she turned to the Captain. “What am I doing here?”
“Are you alright?”
“Who are you? Where am I?”
Joan who was watching from the open door, reached for her telephone as she heard the Owner describe a heavy feeling in the right arm.
Joan who was watching from the open door, reached for her telephone as she heard the Owner describe a heavy feeling in the right arm.
“Do you think anyone would take her organs if she donated them?
“No one will get a heart donation from her. She doesn’t have one!”
“All those years of smoking. Argh!”
They may have been a cynical bunch but at least they didn’t start a final Evil Aunt Mary pool. She would have won anyway. The Owner wasn’t having a stroke, but a T.I.A. instead. A Transient Ischemic Attack has the same cause and symptoms of a stroke except the results are temporary. She would probably live for years after this scare. With any luck, the sudden thought of dying would improve her personality; at least for a couple of months.
Posted by Gary MacDonell at 10:50 PM | Comments (310)