“I wanna go! I wanna go! I wanna go!”
The Aide to the Prime Minister looked dourly at the novice Member of Parliament. “No,” he simply replied.
“Let me! Let me! Let me! Let me!”
The Aide to the Prime Minister looked sanguinely at the novice Member of Parliament. “No,” he simply replied.
“You do not understand,” the MP, his enthusiasm undampened, continued to insist. “Being photographed in front of the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem as part of an official diplomatic mission is the million dollar shot! If I do this, I will represent my mostly Jewish riding for the next thousand years!”
Inwardly, the Aide to the Prime Minister smiled at the hyperbole of the politician. Five hundred sixty-seven years, 600 tops, he estimated. However, the Prime Minister had made it clear that this was his million dollar photographic opportunity, and the aide was there to support his wishes. “Do you know,” he asked with equanimity, “what happens to MPs I have to say no to three times?”
“Umm…no. No, I do not.”
“They are no longer considered ‘Cabinet material.'”
The MP gulped. With the hope of some day being in the Cabinet dashed, all he had to look forward to was 30 or 40 years as a backbencher. He may as well have died at birth for all the good this would do his memory!
The Aide to the Prime Minister smiled to himself, knowing that his message had sunk in. How subtle is the art of managing political ambitions! Still, he felt badly for the distress of the young pol, and decided that this could be a teachable moment.
“Do you know what would happen if the great and wonderful Prime Minister shared this moment in the spotlight with you?” the Aide to the Prime Minister asked.
“Umm…it would be…beneficial for both of us?”
The Aide to the Prime Minister gently shook his head. “Ah, if only that were true. And, unicorns roamed free in the Prairies and this country had an actual conservative majority instead of just a hyperbolic one! But, alas, it is not.”
“It is not?”
“It is simple math, really,” the Aide to the Prime Minister explained. “If you are part of a photographic opportunity with his most exalted political highness, only $750,000 of the million dollar money shot will accrue to that worthy gentleman. The balance will go to you.”
The MP considered this a moment. He was surprised that the balance of funds was not more equal, but then he was delighted that it was not more unequal. Still. “Could my presence not grow the value of the money shot?” he asked.
“How so?” the Aide to the Prime Minister feigned being intrigued. He had heard this argument many times afore.
“If I added…say, $250,000 of value to the money shot,” the MP explained, “the Prime Minister could get a full million dollars of worth, and I could have my benefit as well.”
“Ah, if only you were in the Cabinet,” the Aide to the Prime Minister gently sighed, reinforcing the importance of that position. “But, no. Even Cabinet Ministers overvalue their photographic opportunity importance when compared with our most justly venerated Prime Minister. Besides, there is another complication.”
“Another complication?” the MP dismayed.
“It is not just you who would like to be in the picture with the all wise and knowing Prime Minister,” the Aide to the Prime Minister stated. “It is all the other politicians in the country’s 208 person entourage. Yes, truly, and many of the civil servants, as well. The truth is that if everybody who wanted to be in the photograph was granted their wish, the benefit to the Prime Minister would be exactly 37 cents.”
“Thirty-seven cents?”
“This calculation was confirmed by Revenue Canada statisticians, so you know it must be true.” The Aide to the Prime Minister laid a paternal hand on the shoulder of the MP. “I am sorry, young MP, truly, I am. I have always liked you since you were elected two years ago, and I would help you if I could. But, there are some principles of nature that we cannot, must not go against, and this just happens to be one of them.”
“May I at least have my photo taken at the Wailing Wall on my own? Without the Prime Minister?”
The Aide to the Prime Minister looked around. Seeing the Prime Minister getting into the limousine that would whisk him back to his hotel, he turned to the MP and said, “Knock yourself out.”