The Prime Minister sat behind his desk, pensive. What he was about to do would be most unpleasant; it always was. Even worse, it had to be done to a close personal friend. The Prime Minister had resisted for as long as he dared, but the good of the people had, in the end, to outweigh all other considerations.
The Minister of Justice entered and sat down. “You wanted to see me?” he asked.
“Yes, Tom,” the Prime Minister gravely stated. I’m not going to beat around the bush. You overspent on your election campaign. I might have been able to overlook that, but you were caught. You, the Minister of Justice, of all people! I must ask for your resignation…”
“I see,” the Minister of Justice, not surprised, murmured.
“…and that you write ‘I will not overspend any more’ in green spray paint on Arctic ice a million times or until your arm falls off, whichever comes first.”
The Minister of Justice sat stonefaced for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“You heard me,” the Prime Minister firmly insisted, “You are to resign, then you will write ‘I will not overspend any more’ in green spray paint on Arctic ice a million times or until your arm falls off, whichever comes first. Now, what could be clearer than that?”
The Minister of Justice’s left eyelid twitched ever so slightly. Moments passed. Finally, he said, “You can’t be serious!”
“I never make jokes when I’m sitting behind this desk,” the Prime Minister replied. “You never know who could take them seriously.”
“But, Prime Minister…John, we’ve known each other since we were kids. We…we went to Robert Borden Nursery School together!”
“I know, Tom, but – hold on. I never attended Robert Borden Nursery School.”
“Well, you would have if you had lived in my neighbourhood.”
“Is there even really such a thing as Robert Borden Nursery School?”
“You’re missing the point. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Right. I know we have. Still, there’s nothing I can do. Sorry.”
“Why not?”
The Prime Minister opened the bottom drawer of his desk (the one on the left, the one without the whiskey bottle and autographed picture of Jeanne Kirkpatrick) and removed a newspaper. Plopping it on the desk in front of the Minister of Justice, he explained: “The latest Harass Poll shows that over 80 per cent of Canadians want you to resign and write ‘I will not overspend any more’ in green spray paint on Arctic ice a million times or until your arm falls off, whichever comes first. You see? My hands are tied, Tom. What else can I do?”
The Minister of Justice snorted. “Last week, a Gallumph Poll said that 77 per cent of Canadian wanted the Minister of Finance to hit herself over the head with a wooden ruler until she caused herself irreversible brain damage because she had promised to get the unemployment rate down below five per cent and it’s still hovering around nine!”
“I know,” the Prime Minister sadly said. “I have a three o’clock appointment with her. I hope Margaret’ll understand…”
“This is ridiculous!” the Minister of Justice angrily roared, banging his fist on his desk, then quickly taking it away from the vicinity of the newspaper. “These are just statistics, wit a five per cent margin of error only 19 times out of 20!”
“People have a lot of faith in these polls…”
“They don’t understand how wrong they can be!”
“Do you want to hear what the people in Nova Scotia thought?”
“You’re missing the point!”
“You did very well with blind franchise dealers in Truro named Chuck.”
The Minister of Justice took out a handkerchief and wiped his now freely perspiring forehead. “This isn’t the way government is supposed to work.”
“It’s direct democracy,” the Prime Minister told him. “The people telling their elected officials how the country should be run.”
“It’s democracy filtered through Harass and Gallumph’s computers. How can you effectively if you’re constantly changing your policies and actions to fit the latest public opinion polls?”
The Prime Minister felt his own anger grow. “You think I’m happy with this?” he shouted. “Do you think I enjoyed sending the Minister of Transportation to Africa to bring back a ton of elephant feet? What would we do with them even if he did manage to get them? I didn’t want the Minister of Consumer and Commercial Affairs to have a radio turned to a looped recording of Question Period implanted in his chest! But, we have to put the good of citizens before our own petty interests. Do you understand?”
“I suppose so,” the Minister of Justice mumbled.
“So, you’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it.”
“Good. We’ll have an army transport vehicle take you up to the Arctic Circle. As for supplying the green spray paint, well, I trust you’ll understand when I say that you’re on your own…”