The Lobster Protest
(July 14, 2009)

“The Newfie Bistro and quick! I’m late for a date.” I, Suzy TooToo, exclaimed as I slid through the back window of the taxi.

Twenty minutes later we found ourselves in gridlock.

“Hey, what’s going on?”
“Protest at the US Consulate.”
“Protest for what?”
“I’m not sure but they’ve been there for weeks.”
“Whose they?”
“The lobsters.”

The lobsters? I must have misheard the good doctor driving my taxi.
“Lobsters protesting?”
“Yes.”
“With signs and chanting?”
“Yes, how else does one protest?”

It was evident that the fastest way to my date was on my feet so I paid my fare and walked towards the protest.

Sure enough, with my own pretty purple eyes, I saw lobsters of all shapes and sizes – some holding signs, some holding banners, all standing on the avenue, all blocking traffic.

In a tree situated in the boulevard of the avenue, I saw the head lobster. He was obviously the head lobster as he was the only lobster with a megaphone.

“What do we want?”
“A free and independent republic of lobsters!”
“When do we want it?”
“In a timely yet efficient timeframe!”

Between the “Heck no, We won’t go!” chants I introduced myself to the leader.

“The name is Pinchy.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m always serious.”

And thus ended my potential date and began my interview with Pinchy the Lobster.

“So what is it you want?”
“Our own land. A place where we can be free and safe to do as we wish.”
“And do you have such a place picked out?”
“An island. A little island off the coast of Canada. You may have heard of it. It’s called Newfoundland.”
“But Newfoundland is part of Canada.”
“Not if we have our way.”

Then he leaned down from his tree to whisper in my ear.
“Actually we only want the little island on the south east corner of Newfoundland, but you see, we are asking for all of it. Then we’ll compromise and get our little island. It’s called strategy.”

“It’s also called lunacy. And I suppose you have a name picked for your little Lobster Island?”
“Yes it will be called “Pinchity-Pinch-Pinch”. It’s lobsterese.”
“For what?”
“err... Lobster Island.”

“So how did this all begin?”
“Lobsters and Newfies have been fighting over the land for centuries. Why do you think they hunt us so vicously? Even now, when lobster is going for a measly $3 per pound, they can’t make a living off it yet every morning, they put those stupid, yet oh so attractive, wooden boxes in the ocean. It doesn’t make economic sense. Why don’t they just get a real job?”

“It’s tradition.”
“No, it’s a secret covert Newfoundland lobster genocide plan. They want us all dead. Just yesterday they pleaded people to host lobster parties – solely as a way to justify catching us.”

Pinchy lead his posse in more chants until I pointed to a lobster holding a flag. The flag had a picture of a tiger.

“What’s that?”
Pinchy followed my finger to the flag. His cheeks became red...der.

“You, take down that flag!”
“What’s going on?”

Two giant lobsters who behaved more like mobsters than lobsters removed the flag.

“It was a Lobster Tiger flag. It’s a small, yet radical faction of the movement. They’re, um, recognised as a terrorist group by the United Nations. We don’t support them.

Every time one of the flags appears, the government uses it as an excuse not to meet with us. Personally, in my own lobster opinion, I think the Newfies plant the flags here – fully knowing that one flag is enough to provoke the government to wipe their hands clean of the cause.”

“If you are so concerned about the Canadian government, why are you protesting in front of the American Consulate?”

“We need peacekeepers to stop the genocide. Who has the most soldiers in the world? Exactly – the United States. Besides Obama promised.”
“When?”
“When he promised all things to all people. Can we have Lobster Island? Yes we can! But only through the audacity of hope!”
“My friend Ham thinks Obama ghost-wrote his books – like Kennedy.”
“You’re friend is an idiot.”
“True.”

“But still, It’s been like three weeks and nothing has happened. I didn’t even know about it until now.”
“It’s been three months not three weeks and you are absolutely right. No visibility. No action. If only Newfoundland had oil or diamonds – we wouldn’t be in this situation”

Pinchy took a moment to ponder his thoughts.
“You are right Suzy TooToo.”
“It’s more a given really than a right.”
“Three months and nothing. No action and no visibility. We need something more. Something that will get us instant attention – something that has never been done before!”
“Parachuting lobsters?”
“True but that’s expensive. Remember we are all unemployed.”
“Because of the recession?”
“No, because we are lobsters!”

“What we need is a cheap yet effective way to reach the greatest number of people.”
“Well, the only reason I’m here is because you are blocking the avenue.”

“That’s a great idea!”
“What?”
“Blocking the streets. Instant awareness. The more lanes, the more awareness.”

“Oh no, you don’t mean...”
“The expressway! No one has ever marched onto the expressway. Instant news. Plus, think of all the people stopped in traffic. Instant awareness. Ingenious.”

Before long, Pinchy had organised the masses and they began their six block march to the expressway. The police guarding the US Consulate were quickly on their radios updating headquarters on the situation. Local reporters must have been scanning the police scanners because they began to line the avenue.

A plane flew above us with a banner that read “I’m protestting the prottest!” Pinchy looked up at the small plane and mumbled.
“I knew Newfies couldn’t spell but who in their right mind would let a Newfie fly a plane.”

A crowd of onlookers had gathered at the base of the on ramp to the expressway. At the top of the on ramp were four bicycle police officers lining across the width of the ramp.

The protesting lobsters waited patiently at the intersection for a red light. Once the red light appeared, the cars stopped, allowing the lobsters to gingerly march onto the onramp.

As the sea of red lobsters climbed the onramp, they chanted.
“On the ramp. Newfies are tramps!”

At the top of the ramp, the sea of red lobsters parted around the four bicycled police officers. All except for Pinchy who marched like a modern day Moses through the line. It was a peaceful exchange however all four bicycles mysteriously had their tires popped, no doubt, by protesting claws.

I can’t explain it but the cars on the expressway instantly stopped. Maybe it was the sight of the four police officers on the on ramp. Maybe it was the appearance of myself, Suzy TooToo, known to have stopped traffic with my prettiness or maybe, just maybe it was the fact that were thousands of lobsters on an expressway that made the cars stop.

The lobsters had done it. They became the first group to protest on an expressway. But they had done it. I spun a 360 and saw cameras filming from all angles. Pinchy had achieved his goal. Instant attention. Instant visibility.

As they jumped for joy, cigars in one claw, champagne bottles of sea water in the other for their moral victory, I gathered in my surroundings.

There is a reason no one protests on the expressway. It’s really gross. The tar and gravel is sticky and disgusting looking. And it left an awful residue on my shoes!

At least I could buy new shoes. These poor lobsters were stuck with the tar... well stuck, on their feet. I interrupted Pinchy’s celebrations to express my concerns.

“Pinchy, I’m concerned about you and your fellow posse’s feet.”
“Thank you but we’ll survive.”

“At least let me help you. I knew this great spa where you bath in a sauna for an hour....”
I never got to mention the amazing pedicure for Pinchy lost it.

“Bath in a sauna? We’re lobsters! Being in hot water will kill us! What are you trying to do?”
“Nothing, just that your feet...”
“You are one of them aren’t you Suzy TooToo! You want us dead too!.”

The celebration stopped. All lobsters turned to me and stared. I could see the red in their eyes.

“No, it’s not true! I just want you to have amazing feet!”

Pinchy raised his megaphone.
“Fellow lobsters – get her!”

This was bad. Could I escape the situation? Yes I could. Quickly, I channelled my inner audacity of hope and evaluated the options.

The closest exit was the onramp however I could not take it for it was an onramp, not an offramp. So I ran along the expressway, followed by thousands of angry lobsters, to the nearest offramp.

Maybe it was the intoxication of the seawater or the cigars or of their own power, or the fact they were lobsters - but the lobsters could not catch me. I made it to the offramp and whistled for a taxi.

“Where to ma’am?”
“The spa in five minutes please.”

“Five minutes! That’s impossible!”
“Yes you can, my good doctor. Yes you can!”