No need for extremes

I may have been watching too many spy movies lately. Let me explain.
I was walking one morning last week, checking my maple tree buckets and shaking my fist at Mother Nature, who promised ideal temperatures that week. I got an eyelash in my eye and I was fussing and rubbing and silently whining and complaining.
And I thought to myself, if I am ever captured by terrorists and tortured to reveal state secrets, they wouldn’t have to water-board me or rip off my fingernails or drill out my teeth (as what seems to be standard operating procedures for torture these days according to the movies I’m watching and I’m sure they are accurate to a fault).
All said terrorist need do is to put an eyelash in my eye and I’d spill my guts.
Then I began to picture the scene in my head, my hand raised as they prepared to pour a hundred gallons of water down my throat.
“Wait,” I’d say. “No need for such extremes.” And then I would rattle off all the treatment that would be torture for me. Make me sit still for even a half-hour is barely tolerable for me. Make me listen to rap music, Kanye West specifically, three or four minutes should do it.
Invite the lady from down the road to drop by and make me ask her how she is feeling and without fail, I will hear the details of every surgery she has had since birth and the reason and recovery. I can happily listen for an hour, because everyone needs to be heard, but after that my legs begin to throb, either from the urge to run or the urge to kick (I’m not sure which though both are rude).
I merely could be threatened with having to board an airplane and fly around the world. I don’t even need to go through security and I’d be done for. I might make it to over Montreal on a good day but after that it’s a crapshoot.
Of course, I’d have to have secrets to spill. And if the terrorists didn’t believe me that I know nothing, absolutely nothing, about this government or any government that seems determined to erode the well-being of its residents, that seems to care little for honesty and integrity and caring for those who can’t care for themselves, well then they’d have to do me in.
Or I could make stuff up, such as we promised to provide every resident in Canada with potable drinking water. That doesn’t seem like a lot to ask considering we are not a Third World country the last time I checked.
Education for every child seems a no-brainer and safety while pursuing an education should go hand in hand.
We’re going to quit arguing over what is provided for by our health-care system and instead of asking why certain individuals have coverage instead of others, we’ll demand why the other isn’t covered. We’re not trading disabilities here to deem one more worthy than another.
My daughter’s insulin and insulin pump supplies are not covered, and we have been paying for that for more than 20 years, so you can imagine the cost. But that doesn’t mean it’s more important than something else that is covered; it is equally important.
Anyway, the terrorist may get bored with my rant and dump me on the side of the road and look for another victim. But I’d give him an earful while I could, though I am fortunate to say I haven’t come across any terrorists as of late.
And maybe I’ll change the channel and watch “Schitt’s Creek” on CBC Television instead, because that is just too funny and no one is getting tortured unless you spend a few minutes with Mayor Roland.
You’ll understand if you’ve seen the program.
wendistewart@live.ca