The sound of a boarding pass being printed brought me to my feet. I paced to the desk. “I was here before that man,” I complained to the harried attendant.
Bob Rae avoided my look of indignation. He was too busy being led down the loading ramp by his guardian in the blue suit.
“I thought you said there were no seats.”
“Yes, but that man is Super Elite. I don’t know who he is.”
“He’s Bob Rae.”
The woman shrugged. “Leave me alone to do my work.”
“I’m not stopping you from doing your work. Who was that woman in the blue suit? What’s her name?”
“You can ask her when she comes back. Now, I have to do my work.”
“What’s your name?”
“Leave me alone. Or I will call security.” She picked up a phone and held it ominously to her ear.
“I am not stopping you from doing your work.” Regardless, with visions of probing searches by burly, latex-gloved security guards, I backed away and sat. Miffed, I imagined Bob Rae snapping that glinting card down on the countertop. Super Elite. A status he attained by flying around the country on taxpayer’s money, representing stranded, economy-class people like me.
“It was Bob Rae,” I said again, glancing around for the arrival of security. “He used to be the premier of this province.”
“I don’t know,” replied the woman, busily clicking keys. “But he’s Super Elite.” She finished up by making a call to the plane, giving it the green light to depart.
I watched the plane taxi away from the ramp and I imagined Bob Rae settling in his seat, making affable comments to the other passengers, smiling at the attendants who delivered him his glass of champagne. The fallen king of socialism on his flying throne.
Suddenly hungry, I wandered off to order a slice of pizza and a bottle of beer. I snapped down my credit card with newly-attained Bob Rae bravado, but no one seemed to care. “I am Super Elite,” I said, and the cashier laughed. I sat on a hard stool and ate, biding my time like a commoner.
Newfoundland author Kenneth Harvey’s latest novel is Reinventing the Rose
