This story is set in December 2009, a time when Vancouver was preparing to host the 2010 Winter Olympics, Conservative Stephen Harper was prime minister, and Elizabeth II was the queen of Canada. It first appeared in QUIRK-E Collections Volume 5.
Six people lined up at the postal outlet. Damn. I thought delaying my big annual stamp purchase until December 29 would make for a quick trip. I’d just spent four hours going through this year’s financial records in order to send my clients their annual tax receipts.
After I waited fifteen minutes, the last person ahead of me gathered her stamps and stepped aside to affix them to her mail. I spotted the five rings on the white background.
“Hi,” I said to the postal clerk. “I’d like fifty non-Olympic stamps.”
“You mean Olympic stamps.”
“No. I mean non-Olympic stamps. I don’t want my envelopes to promote the Olympics.”
The clerk stared at me. The woman who’d been ahead of me gathered her belongings.
“Best thing that ever happened to Vancouver,” she said with a sniff, waggling her stamped envelopes at me as she walked out.
“Think of all the tourists,” said the man behind me. When I turned to make a statement that might have contained the words freedom of speech – I saw the line-up. Five stony faces.
I quickly turned back to the clerk.
“Have you any others?”
She reached down to the next drawer.
“We’re allowed to sell the Christmas issue until December 31.” She started to count.
I saw the haloes first, then the baby Jesus.
“Uh, these are going to persons from a variety of faiths,” I muttered. “Got anything more secular?”
Her look listed everything she despised about me. I followed her gaze to check behind me. Eight faces now. None friendly.
The walls behind the counter were covered with Canada Post flyers illustrating the artistry and variety of Canadian stamps. There had to be more options at this outlet.
“What about those?” I pointed at a brochure displaying a set of four exquisite drawings of northern wildlife. The clerk stomped to the back room and quickly returned, mumbling as she counted out stamps. She ripped the last perforations and slapped fifty stamps on the counter. She punched the cash register.
“That’ll be $35.75.”
Then I saw the tiny print beneath the images of a white fox, a beaver, two otters and a seal.
Fur – from Canada to the world.
“Stop! I’m sorry, I support the fur trade even less than I support the Olympics.”
I heard voices behind me. The line now snaked around a corner of the drugstore. Had I never looked at my year-end stamps before? I couldn’t recall a single analytical thought about postage.
“Too bad I ran out of the basic parliament building issue before Christmas. I suppose the government’s still okay with you?”
I choked back a statement that might have contained the words Stephen Harper.
I said in a chilly tone, “Of course. Too bad they made you push the Olympics.” We glowered at each other.
“But I do have these,” said the clerk with a sigh, stooping to the lowest drawer. “Nobody wants these anymore. People like the special issues, the Olympics most of all.”
Point made, she extracted two sheets of the classic Canadian stamp, the crowned queen facing stolidly right. I bit my lip and started to pick them up. But the last five minutes of critical thinking was too hard fought to sell out now. I put them down.
“Personally, I’d rather have a head of state who’s more than an occasional visitor. I’ll go to the main branch. Thank you for your help.”
High on the wall I had seen stamps featuring the Group of Seven, the northern lights, children’s art, aircraft, and provincial flowers. I didn’t really object to everything, just to everything on offer here today.
