Andrew Jackson stepped out of his front door and into the surprisingly warm autumn air. Zipping up his bomber jacket and adjusting his excellent new outback hat, he shoved his hands into his pockets and set off up Third Street towards downtown. Turning right on First Avenue he stopped for a moment to survey the Petersons’ front yard, with its windmills, its bridges and its seemingly countless random lawn ornaments, all presided over by a rather imposing plastic Bambi. The adult Bambi, with his impossible rack of plastic antlers and the haughty plastic stare. “If I had a putter with me,” thought Andrew, “I could play a few holes.”
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Ambling up First Avenue towards Main Street he passed by Dave’s Barbershop on the corner. Through the somewhat grimy window he could just make out old man Hiebert sitting in the lone barber’s chair, with Dave hovering over him, comb and clippers in hand. Dave glanced up and, seeing Andrew passing by, raised the clippers in a wordless salute. Andrew waved back, then turned right and headed up Main Street.
He passed Bill Carruthers at the hardware store, who was on the sidewalk setting up the portable sale signs.
“Hey howdy,” said Bill. “Can you believe this weather?”
Andrew paused. “Mornin’ Bill,” he said. “When it comes to weather, yeah, I’ll believe anything.” He looked down at the sign Bill had just propped up against the wall of the store. “Five bucks?” he said. “For a vice grip?”
“Yup,” said Bill. “Cheap as borscht. Made in China. You should buy one. You can never have too many vice grips. Especially if they’re made in China.”
“How much for a real vice grip?” said Andrew. “I actually need a new one.”
“Fourteen ninety-nine,” said Bill. “For a Stanley.”
“That sounds more like it,” said Andrew. “Maybe I’ll stop by on my way back.”
“You do that,” said Bill. “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Andrew moved on, past the bakery where the aroma of freshly baked bread suddenly made him ravenous, and finally turned and headed into the café.
“The usual, Mr. Jackson?” said the young lady behind the counter as he entered.
“Indeed,” said Andrew. “In fact, throw an extra egg on the plate. I’m hungry.”
“Coming right up,” said the young lady, with a bright smile, and Andrew headed over to join his friends at the table by the window.
“Howdy boys,” he said. “What’s on the agenda this morning?”
There were murmured greetings from the table’s occupants.
“We’re solving global warming,” said Grant Toews, who sat with his back to the window.
Andrew pondered that. “I thought the Americans just solved that,” he said, “by electing Republicans.”
“The climate’s always been changing,” said Rod Mintern, who was sitting next to Grant. “Who says human beings are making any difference?”
“Uhh… 97 per cent of the world’s scientists?” said Doug Jordan who sat across from Rod.
“A lot of people say the science is not conclusive,” said Rod.
“Yes,” said Doug. “Yes they do. And they always start by saying, well, I’m not a scientist but…”
“So you believe the scientists?” said Rod.
“No of course not,” said Doug. “I never believe the scientists. When scientists said they had discovered vaccines for polio and measles and rubella, I laughed! When they said they were going to develop little ovens with clocks that always flash 12 but could cook a potato in a minute and a half I scoffed! When they claimed that they were developing telephones that would fit in our pockets and have a hundred thousand times more memory than the computers on Apollo 13 but that would only work if you stood on one leg in the exact right spot in the west pasture, I howled with unbridled mirth! Scientists, I said! What have they ever actually done for us?! Of course, now they’ve done all those things.”
There was a brief silence.
“Sooo… you DO believe the scientists?” said Rod.
Doug rolled his eyes. “When 97 per cent of them agree, I kind of do,” he said. “If you went to see 100 psychologists and 97 of them said you were a moron and three said you were of average intelligence, who would you believe?”
“I’d believe the three who said I’m of average intelligence,” said Rod.
“Exactly,” said Doug. “Because you’re a moron.”
“Dude,” said Grant. “Now you’re just being rude.”
“No,” said Rod. “Don’t worry. It’s just a hypothetical situation.” He got up to go. “Just like global warming.” Grant and Doug and Andrew watched him leave.
“A problem ignored is a problem solved,” said Doug.
“That does seem to be a lot of people’s approach to global warming,” said Andrew.
“I wasn’t talking about global warming,” said Doug. “I was talking about Rod.”
