Killer Potato
(February 18, 2005)

I don’t usually accept “gentleman callers” at home but Ham is no gentleman.

After my last report, I managed to convince Ham that my perfume purchase was a report expense. It took five weeks for his so-called “accounting team” (really it’s just him) to issue the cheque, so to make it up to me, he hand delivered my expense cheque.

“Did you hear the NHL cancelled the season today?”
“Really?”
“Yep. You know, this is pretty unique. No other pro sports league has cancelled an entire season due to labour relations.”
“Did you want me to cover the story?”
“Na. It’s already been over-reported to death.”

“Death? Why smack the Grim Reaper over the head with a broom stick!  I need to see Charlie!”

Charlie is my next door neighbour who happens to be a huge hockey fan. Ever since the hockey lockout started, Charlie has not been himself. In order to keep his mind off his pain of no hockey, he took up numerous hobbies. 

Every Monday night, he came over to my place for a best 4 of 7 of checkers. Every Thursday night, he went over to Mrs. Havenbrook to learn how to knit. During the autumn, he diverted his pain into lawn-care. By Thanksgiving he had the nicest lawn in the neighbourhood. It is rumoured he cut his grass every time a Leaf game was suppose to be on TV (2-3 times a week) but I can’t confirm this. Lately he has been shovelling the neighbourhood’s driveways for no-charge. Currently he is responsible for eleven driveways.

I ran over to Charlie’s as Ham waited at the bus stop (He told me he couldn’t buy a car because he had to pay my expense cheque). With checkerboard in hand, I knocked on his front door but – no answer. I knocked again. No answer. This was odd as Charlie is always quick to answer the door – anything to get his mind off hockey. 

Then I heard it. The worst sound possible came ever-so-quietly from his garage. I ran to the garage and my worst fears were true. I could hear a car idling from the inside.

“HAM!!! Come quick!”

Ham ran over and helped me lift up the garage door. Immediately you could smell the exhaust. I covered my face with my cashmere scarf and ran inside. Ham followed suit. The car door was locked so Ham took one of Charlie’s hockey sticks and smashed the window. We dragged Charlie to his freshly shovelled driveway.

I slapped him on the face a few times while yelling “Charlie! Charlie! Wake up Charlie.” I turned to Ham.

“Didn’t you take first aid in high school or something?”
“That was a long time ago Suzy. I wasn’t paying attention anyway. Say, didn’t you take first aid in high school?”
“Umm… yes but there was this cute boy and … it doesn’t matter. I’m going to call 9-1-1.”

“Wait. I have an idea.”
Ham leaned over Charlie and whispered into his ear.
“The Leafs have won the Cup. Stanley’s coming home!”

Charlie sat up immediately as if he had been lying on a springboard.
“We Won! We Won! I must be in heaven.”
Ham, always the know-it-all said “No, this isn’t heaven. You’re still on earth. Besides committing suicide is a mortal sin. You would have been in Hell.”

“The season, you mean, it’s still cancelled?”
“Yes, Charlie.” I put my arm around my friend. “Why did you do it?”

“I left a note in the passenger’s side.”

Ham retrieved the note as he turned off the engine. The potato fell from the exhaust pipe. Ham glanced over the note and began to read.

Dear Cruel World

Some people may say I am doing this because I could not survive without hockey for an entire year. Although there may be some merit to this, it is not the main reason. I am ending my life because I can’t possibly bear to live in a world where a person can only make an average of 1.3 million dollars. 

How are the players suppose to live off this? Take Chris Pronger for instance. He’s six foot six, two hundred and thirty pounds. With a physique like that he needs a lot of caviar to fill him up. His ten million dollars a year goes a long way to accomplish this feat. What’s he suppose to do? Eat 20 boxes of Kraft Dinner a day? Not even Kraft Dinner because he can't afford that.  It would have to be no name Kraft Dinner.  No, players need the fine dining that provides them with the essential nutrients to keep them in good health. 

Now that he has no income, whose going to pay his hydro bill? His water bill? His butler? Living in his mansion, the hydro pool must be astronomical. I mean hydro for the indoor heated Olympic size pool must be enormous.

Then there is the car insurance. How is a zero-income person suppose to pay his Lamborghini car insurance payments? It’s not fair for him. Why can’t the owners see that? 

People need to eat! People need electricity and water. People need to pay their car insurance. People need to pay their butlers!

It’s too much to see good honest down-to-earth people suffering like this. I must go.

Good-bye cruel world,

Charlie


“This is the dumbest thing I have ever…”
I interrupted Ham.
“Charlie do you need anything?”
“Just a kick in the head.” Ham grumbled. “I mean if you were killing yourself for lack of hockey, you could have at least put some creativity into it. I’m not saying use a skate blade but at least use a puck to block the exhaust instead of a stupid potato.”

To change the subject from the “unpoetic suicide attempt”, I repeated my question.
“Charlie, do you need anything?” 
“No the fresh air is doing me some good.”

To move to a more upbeat subject, I began to tell my misadventure involving a pelican eating my sandwich while an Eskimo laughed at me but Charlie interrupted me.

“I just don’t understand why they couldn’t come to a compromise.”
“Oh that’s easy Charlie,” Ham replied, “the two heads of the parties are Americans.”

We walked Charlie inside his house and played a marathon of checkers. I (and the neighbourhood) really hope hockey comes back soon. I don’t know how much longer we can all last on suicide watch.