Protest

The year Trudeau Junior won his majority, I needed a new fridge, so I worked the advance polls. Four days of squinting at IDs, repetitive strain from crossing names off lists, with no time to eat or pee, blur in my memory. Except for one young man, who, having waited forty minutes and showed me his ID, was given a ballot to make his mark. He announced: “I'm refusing to vote.” His protest—against the futility of elections? The corruption of politicians? Democracy?—witnessed only by me and three other tired election workers, living on chocolate, gummy bears and caffeine.

Inspired by Sign Wars! Graphic from the Elections Canada home page.

Sign Wars!

The NDP here are a tight little group. No matter the campaign—federal, provincial, or municipal—you see the same faces, year after year. And so, we’ve all gotten pretty good at campaigning; and we sure had a pretty good run there for awhile—until the damned Liberals beat Toronto’s best MP . . . really.

     Thing is, I’m a sign guy, and so that’s how I’ll judge you. Our signs are straight; their signs are crooked. Our signs stay up; their signs fall down.

     By sheer numbers alone, we won the last three sign wars. Next time, hopefully, we win back the seat.

Inspired by Woke Salad Annie. Photo from the author’s extensive collection of Liberal Sign Fails.

Woke Salad Annie

Ever since they stopped the 7:00 P.M. pot-banging she was in an ethical quandary. How could she show her neighbours that she too liked a side of luke-warm activism with her piney Riesling? That’s why clanging kitchen utensils worked so well: All that community schwarm and a good night’s sleep for only a two-minute effort. But then the lawn signs came. First one, then another, then a third . . . Was she diluting her support for one cause by the proliferation of others? Who cares? Hate had no place on her grass. Neither did dogs—and she had a sign for that too.

Inspired by One Copes. Photo by L. Leclair.

One Copes

When asked what he did during the French Revolution, the Abbé Sieyès replied, “I survived.” I’m grateful to say the same (so far) of the pandemic. Yes, it’s tedious. Long, properly-distanced walks in the city distracted for a while—until I’d walked everywhere. A new bike, I decided, a shiny roadster for my Tour de Here. Hahahaha. Global supply chains are locked up tighter than Gitmo. Often I met friends in the park. First we had a brisk walk then, two meters apart, a beer on a bench. Sometimes we forewent the walk. Sometimes I forewent the friend. One copes.

Links are to previous Exquisite Corpse pandemic-era posts to show how we’ve coped.