On May 2, Stephen Harper and his Conservatives fulfilled the dream of a generation of western Reformers, winning a majority federal government.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Quebec...
Ring! Ring! Ring!
“Uh, hullo?”
“Bonjour! Good morning Ruth, or should a say Madam MP.”
“Eh?”
“This is Jack Layton. I’m just calling to congratulate you on being elected to Parliament.”
“What?”
“You won, Ruth! You’re going to Ottawa!”
“Marty, is that you? Dude it’s early and I just got off-shift three hours ago. Call back later.”
“No, seriously, Ruth, this is Jack Layton.”
“Yeah, well I’m the Queen of England. Nice to meet you Mr. Layton. Give me that cane so that I may knight thee Sir Layton, Defender Of The Realm. Now buzz off so I can get some sleep.”
Fifteen minutes later: Ring! Ring! Ring!
“Uh, hullo”
“Ruth, I need you to turn on the TV.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s jack Layton. I need you to turn on the TV and turn to channel 15 right now.”
“Oh, the good Sir Layton, is it? Well I have a quest for thee. I want you to jump off a bridge and report back to me on the...”
“RUTH, just turn on the TV.”
“Fine.”
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, click.
“That’s me on the right, holding the cell phone waving to you, Ruth.”
“Oh, crap.”
“Yes.”
“Um... Did you say I won the election?”
“Yes.”
“But that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I know, isn’t it great!”
“But I didn’t even visit the riding to campaign! I went on vacation in Las Vegas! This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen.”
“I’ll give you a few minutes to collect your thoughts, Ruth.”
Fifteen minutes later: Ring! Ring! Ring!
“Hello, this is Ruth.”
“Hello Ruth.”
“Yes, sir Mr. Layton. Very good sir.”
“Ruth, I didn’t ask you how you are yet.”
“Oh crap. I mean, yes sir.”
“Ruth, we have a thing called campaign school, where candidates learn how to conduct themselves and represent the party in public. Did you go to campaign school?”
“No, sir, I was busy that day.”
“What were you doing?”
“Um... well... I was sort of... indisposed.”
“Ruth, you’re worrying me.”
“Oh, no sir, you don’t need to worry. I just skipped it to get a massage. But not one of those kinds of massages, if you know what I mean.”
“I certainly do not.”
“Oh, yeah, that story in the SUN. Um, no sir, I didn’t mean that. I...”
“Ruth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop talking.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You need to go to campaign school. And until you do, I don’t want you to talk to any media. I don’t want you to answer your phone, I don’t want you to send an e-mail. And, for the love of God, take down your Facebook page!”
“Yes, sir.”
“The thing you need to understand, Ruth, is that you’re an elected MP now. You have to make that real. You are in charge of helping shape national policy on issue of importance to millions of Canadians. You will have Liberals, Conservatives, and Bloc MPs waiting for your first misstep to pounce and discredit you, the party and by extension, me.”
“Mr. Layton. I don’t think I want to be an MP.”
“You do know that we get paid six figures, right?”
“Oh. Really. Well, I guess it won’t be so bad after all.”
“See you in Ottawa!”
