What Might Have Happened in the Chief Commissioners Office Last Thursday

As Herself Gets Word of Ezra's New Book

The following is a work of pure, unadulterated fiction, not impossible, plausible even, maybe, but fiction none the less. This is like the very short joke of the two Irish men who walked out of a pub in that it could have happened, and the probabilities are similar, pretty close to nonexistent. I wrote it for the same reason that I have written a number of things lately, as part of denormalizing something that is odious to me and to many Canadians of good will. With lemons, make lemonade.

This short story involves an imaginary look last Thursday morning inside the office of the Chief Commissioner of the Human Rights Commission, a look that none of us are ever going to have.

On Thursday morning, August 20, 2009, as the Chief Commissar of the Human Rights Commission strode into her office filled with purpose and arrived at her desk in the fortified quarters of her domain, she pulled her laptop computer out of her shoulder bag and logged on to the network. She pulled out of her briefcase a secret file and started down her list of THE 1,200 to see what misdeeds were being perpetrated in her world by those who would subvert the right of every person in Canada to feel good, and happy 24/7, particularly herself.

On the top of her list was the big three, Ezra Levant, Mark Steyn, and Kathy Shaidle, followed by the rest of those mopes, she called the twelve hundred, not the silly list that had been cobbled together and sent to that nosy young blogger from Vancouver Island, Walker Morrow, but the real list, with tables of search data.

She sat back in her chair, looked out her corner office window, at the surrounding parkland, then took a sip of her chai tea, and mused for a moment about how little those folks out there knew about the working of Freedom of Information legislation. With bait and switch, she could protect her own a??, long after they were off on another tangent. She relied on their short attention spans combined with her abilities to drag things out and to hide things well to keep them at bay. That young kid out west had even been looking at her expense reports online. What a joke, she thought. He can't get anything from that. It's all buried too deep for him to figure out anything he can use against me. I'm far too smart for these people to ever get to me. "I am good," she muttered to herself.

She turned back to her computer, and the first thing she brought up was ezralevant.com. She read the following blog post from himself:

"I'm finishing up my next book. The manuscript is due in to my publisher at the end of the month, which is less than two weeks away.

So I'm going to take a short break from blogging... unless there's something just crazy out there that needs a comment, like some new Jennifer Lynch eruption.

See you in September!"

"Holy sh?t," she cried out, "That son of a b?tch is out to get me." She started to fume, her mind working overtime at what his new book might include. He had been on her like "white on rice". What an irritant he had become. Because of him, she had had to grovel with the CASHRA folks in Montreal, and the Canadian Bar Association in Dublin. How humiliating that was.

She hit her intercom button hard, the stress working its way through her body to her finger tips already, and called out frantically to her Administrative Assistant: "Is the Deputy Chief in the office today, or is he at home this week? I can't remember."

Her Admin responded promptly and cheerfully, but not too cheerfully, knowing that that kind of angst in the voice of the Chief Commissioner did not auger well for the rest of the day: "He's in his office Ma'am. Shall I get him for you?" She was pretty good at guessing what her boss wanted and it had stood her in good stead many times before. She hoped it worked this time as well.

"Yes, I need him now," followed by an audible click. That was not a good sound, she thought. Quickly, she stepped over to the Deputy Chief''s office, knocked on his door frame and entered gingerly into his office. He had his head down perusing a report that was in his hand, while sipping on a fresh cup of coffee.

"Yes," he said as he raised his eyes with some measure of diffidence at being disturbed. He did notice the panic in the Admin's eyes, and felt it in the air as well, so did not utter the next words in his mind.

"She wants you in her office immediately," blurted the Admin, with the anxiety that the Deputy Chief had perceived a moment earlier.

He said nothing but arose from his desk immediately and headed hastily for the door and over to the Chief Commissioner's suite.

Within seconds he was at her door, and he knocked on her door frame rather than just entering. She was staring at her computer with a look of astonishment, combined with anger, fear and trepidation all at once on her visage. As she looked up, he noticed that this woman whom he had considered handsome for her age when she had brought him in to this position, looked very haggard at this moment. He wondered if this haggard look was something new or if it had been there for some time and he had been too busy to notice.

"Sit down for a moment, will you?" The Deputy Chief thinks; Okay angst, not directed at me, that's good. This isn't about me. Whew!

"His book. It's about me, isn't it?" (much angst)

"Ma'am, who are you talking about?" he asks quizzically as he is not up to speed with her yet.

"Levant. That's who."

"No, Ma'am. He's over you." He breathes a sigh of relief. He thinks of Ezra Levant as a popinjay, that will go away sometime soon. After all he's not here in Ottawa, so not a real threat.

"No. He just won't quit. What did I ever do to him?" She has stopped hyperventilating now.

"Well, you know what you did to him. You had him investigated over those dog gone cartoons for the longest time, and he didn't really take it very well."

"But, but, but, it wasn't personal." She's starting to make excuses for herself, finding that lawyers rhythm.

"He seemed to think it was."

"He's going to spread more misinformation, I can just tell. Him and those bloggers. Why won't they just believe me when I tell them that they have it all wrong? They just don't get it, how we are working for the greater good, and they are just in the way, all those . . . little people."

"You need a break and you need to calm down. Maybe you should take a trip back to Nairobi, or Geneva and drum up some more support. You love picking up frequent flyer miles."

"Thank you, Deputy Chief. I'll do that. You understand me. I'm not a bad person. I'm just a soul whose intentions are good. Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood."

As the Deputy Chief leaves her office he swears that he hears the band The Animals singing in the background, "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" from their 1965 Animal Tracks album.

Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood
                          from 1965 'Animal Tracks'

Baby, do you understand me now,
Sometimes I feel a little mad.
But, don't you know that no one alive can always be an angel.
When things go wrong I feel real bad.

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good,
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.

Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree,
With a joy that's hard to hide.
And sometimes it seems that, all I have to do is worry
And then you're bound to see my other side.

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good,
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.

If I seem edgy,
I want you to know,
That I never mean to take it out on you.

Life has its problems,
And I get my share,
And that's one thing I never mean to do,

'Cause I love you,
Oh,

Oh, oh, oh, baby - don't you know I'm human.
I have thoughts like any other one.
Sometimes I find myself, Lord, regretting,
Some foolish thing - some little simple thing I've done.

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good,
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.
(repeat)
(repeat)