Life is becoming difficult; I have now added a sounding of views on The Truckers Freedom Convoy to my checklist before committing to spending time with anyone.
Especially if I don’t have an easy exit.
It was the peak of the Canadian Truckers Freedom convoy in Ottawa. Trudeau had announced that the Wuhan Flu had overcome his vaccinations, and he was self-isolating. The legacy media portrayed the truckers as misogynistic Nazis. On Parliament Hill, the truckers were loud and polite.
Back in the west, life continued. A Calgarian friend of mine helped a friend of his. They were delivering a car to the west coast. It was a two-day drive. They overnighted in a motel and met for breakfast the following morning.
Breakfast was served, and as my friend took his first sip of coffee, his driving companion looked up from the news flow on his phone and said, “damn, what a mess these truckers are creating. Aren’t we lucky to have Justin Trudeau’s leadership in these dark times?”
My friend related the story; he said, “I was so shocked, I literally spit my coffee out onto my eggs. I could not believe that anyone from Alberta could say something like that.”
My friend continued, “I recovered my breath, cleaned up my shirt from the coffee, and said, “Jesus Christ, you cannot say things like that, even in jest, before breakfast.” Little did I know, he was not joking.
He shook his head ruefully and concluded, “I had no way out. We had another day of driving left. The weather was nice, but the inside of the car was frosty.”