Creighton Park was a fifteen-minute walk from the campaign office. I needed to find something to do when I got there so I decided to get a haircut. There was an old school barbershop called Tony’s run by an Italian and his son. Both men were Tony so it was easy to keep them straight, old Tony and young Tony. I sent Dot a quick text to let her know I would be back in an hour.
I was feeling better. Margaret had done me a favour as I was three days overdue for a haircut. When I arrived at the north side entrance of the mall, a bit of Dot’s paranoia crept back. I looked over my shoulder to see if Margaret had followed me. With the coast clear, I went inside. Tony’s barbershop was close to the entrance.
“Hey Mr. Candidate! How’s it going! I was wondering when you were coming in for a trim. You gotta look good! If people are going to believe you will take care of them, you need to take care of yourself. You can’t walk around the neighbourbood looking like shit!” the large Italian man shouted.
“Hey Tony. I hear you. It has been way too long,” I replied.
“Don’t worry boss! We will have you looking electable in no time!” he replied.
He slapped me on the back with one hand and patting my chest and arms down with the other.
“What? No body armour? Where the hell is your body guard?” he said laughing.
“Be careful Tony. My head security guy makes Vladimir Putin look like a schoolboy. There is a red dot on your forehead right now,” I joked.
He gave me a huge hug and we laughed. His cologne filled my nostrils, bold and to the point.
The younger Tony was on duty this morning. He was a classic Italian guy with a stereotypical outfit: tight trousers, collared shirt with three buttons open at the neck that exposed a nest of chest hair and a solid gold chain with a large lucky horn. This popular charm found on Latin men is a traditional symbol used to advertise virility. In ancient Roman times, where it originated, the lucky horn was a penis. But not long after the Emperor Constantine’s conversion, the Catholic Church considered an erect penis hanging around a person’s neck vulgar.
Fortunately for Tony’s ancestors, early Italian fashion designers turned the engorged member into a good luck horn. It reminded me of swimming sperm. Why Roman Catholics considered cocks on chains inappropriate when a giant gold sperm is perfectly fine was beyond me. I accepted I was being culturally insensitive. There are many traditions I will never understand. However, I was happy to think gay culture has been around much longer than most people will admit.
“Take a seat boss. You want the usual?” young Tony asked as he brushed the black leather barber’s chair like he was slapping a horse on the ass.
“Sure Tony. There is not much left so be careful,” I responded.
“Yes, you are getting a little thin,” he said as he ran his big fingers through my hair.
“Don’t sweat it boss, your testosterone runs like maple sap in the spring. Women love it!” he added as he threw more effort in the head massage.
“Tony, I am impressed you can turn my balding head into a good thing. Well done! Remember though, when it goes, I won’t need to come here anymore,” I quipped.
“What are you talking about? You will need me more than ever. If you shave it yourself you will see more blood than a season of the Walking Dead!” he said.
Before I could change the subject from my failing follicles, Tony’s cellphone chirped with a text message. He glanced at the phone quickly. His happy demeanor changed.
“Jesus, why the hell does she always send me a text message!” he said before I could ask him what was up.
“If she wants to talk to me why doesn’t she just pick up the phone and call me? Like I got time to be dealing with text messages! What the hell is up with texting anyway? I bought the phone to talk, not to read and write. For Christ’s sake, how the hell does she think I can type on those tiny little keys! Easy for her maybe; she is sitting home all day, with her feet up on the coach, waiting for her nails to dry watching Netflix. Meanwhile, I am working for a living! And now I have to work harder to pay for the phone! You know what I am saying? A cellphone should make my life easier not force me to sit down and write a god damn novel! Texting, Facebook, twitter, it’s all shit if you ask me! She can sit there and spend hours flipping through pictures of what all her friends had for fucking breakfast or what they just bought at Ikea. Waste of goddamn time! You know what I am going to do?! I’m gonna ignore the fucking thing. Let her write on the shitty little keys! I will talk to her when she figures out what phones are for!”
“Tony you really have to come out of your shell,” I said with a smile.
He laughed loudly.
“That’s why I like you. You are a funny guy. You know what? I’m gonna vote for you. First time I vote Conservative in my life!” he pledged.
“Thanks Tony. I greatly appreciate your support but you don’t live in the area,” I replied.
“What? I gotta live in the fucking neighbourhood where I work to vote?” he asked with genuine shock.
“Always have my friend,” I told him.
“Are you kidding me? I own a business here and spend all of my time here?! How do I get away from this place if I live down the road? There is home and there is work! Jesus, can you imagine your wife so close to where you work? Would make her never-ending texting look good! Okay, I will tell my cousin and his family to vote for you. He is in Woodlawn. Him, his wife, three boys and his in-laws all at the same address. I got your back, even if your leader does have a shitty haircut! Jesus Christ, what the hell is up with that guy? His hair looks like it was carved out of wood. Who cuts his hair? Geppetto?”
“Thanks Tony. I appreciate your cousin’s support.”
I felt better talking to Tony, young or old. Father and son are equally outrageous and always entertaining. Today was a welcome diversion from this new drama that had my head spinning. Margaret a spy for the NDP? What the hell? Jesus, just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach. Maybe Dot, God love her, had reached her limit with the stress of the anthrax hoax and the trauma has triggered paranoia? Perhaps she had been in this game far too long?
I couldn’t accept Margaret had a nefarious agenda. How could someone I knew so well compromise her integrity, personal values, and sacrifice a long-standing personal relationship for political gain?
On the other hand, maybe it does happen? My recent interest in CNN had exposed to me this win at all cost mentality in American politics, one which became a daily occurrence since Trump moved into Washington.
In the American political contest sure, but here in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, where the prize was a Member of Parliament job in a country where people believe in peace, order, and good government more than the pursuit of happiness? Were Canadians prepared to pull out all the stops and do whatever it takes to win?
I didn’t want to imagine it. In fact, the mere thought a volunteer on my campaign would suggest it was possible was incredible. Canadian politics has a history of being boring and uneventful.
To my mind, Huxley’s prophecy was hitting closer to the mark than Orwell’s. We aren’t being manipulated by a totalitarian state against our will. We are willingly submitting to control. We are giving up our freedom in exchange for constant comfort, the hum and buzz of endless infotainment and artificial connections which measure success by the number of meaningless likes, views, and followers.
At this point, I realized I had thrown myself into a depressing tailspin again and I needed to pull myself out of it. I refused to believe people like Margaret would compromise themselves, and for what? To elect someone to the House of Commons?
Participation in collision sports had taught me most physical injuries don’t take long to heal, a belief reinforced by my full recovery from a gunshot wound. However, there were certain attacks that cut deeper. If Dot’s intuition was on target, I feared I was more at risk from a friend than I was from the lunatic in the library.
I refused to let this dark malaise infect my thoughts anymore. I made the choice to believe in the common decency of the people I worked with. With Tony’s hands in my hair, I pushed the ill thoughts away and decided the best way to fortify my faith in my team was to lean into them. I needed to get back to work. We had a debate to prepare for and there were many more doors left to knock on.
I settled up with young Tony and left the barbershop. I grabbed a taxi back to the office. The game had moved into the second half and I needed to catch up.
Troy Myers 