Dear Editor,
I’ve heard the expression “girl talk,†but there is also “boy talk,†during which you tell of your erstwhile adventures to a rapt audience.
Today was such a day: pouring rain, a sheltered “man cage†with a roaring fire.
My pal is a retired cop with many adventures to relate.
The place was a First Nations reservation southeast of Lethbridge. My friend, an RCMP officer, was selected to drive his Inspecting Officer to a gathering. The Inspector, accompanied by his wife, was resplendent in his red surge uniform, as was his driver.
The arrival of this Mountie celebrity was met by drumming, dancing, and chanting in the Blackfoot language, while my pal opened the vehicle’s door, and saluted as the guests of honour disembarked from the vehicle.
The ceremonies lasted for about four hours while the driver waited and watched the ceremonies from the car.
When the show was over, the senior Mountie and his wife returned to the car, and was saluted by his driver, who then took his place to drive back to town.
There was only one hitch to this plan. The vehicle refused to start, as the battery in an ever-decreasing growl sputtered into silence.
The engine would not start, and my friend knew the reason why: he’d forgotten to turn the lights out.
He immediately took action, and turned off the lights.
“I have no idea what is wrong, Sir,†he pleaded.
His superior told him not to worry as the Black Foot Chief had, by this time, summoned a pickup truck loaded with celebrants who made way for the RCMP Inspector and his wife.
“I’ll send help†he shouted to my buddy, as they bounced away in a most undignified manner.
Four hours later, a mechanic appeared and boosted the battery with cables, and remarked it was strange how the battery had died.
My pal agreed it was strange, but never divulged his little secret of leaving the headlights burning most of the afternoon.
Mike Harvey, Langley