Theoria

I wish I had something interesting and insightful to say, but I don’t. I was at Canadian Tire today getting an oil change and having my headlight bulbs replaced and, while sitting in the waiting room reading Bruno Latour’s Reassembling the Social (I’m not particularly impressed thus far, by the way), an old man – most likely a farmer – sits down two seats from me. His (presumably) wife sits down along the opposite wall. After awhile, the man says to me (I think), “Is that book from the library?” I said, “Yes, but it isn’t from the library in town. I got it from a library in the city.” He replied, “So it is a city-book?” I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I said, “I got it from the university.” I think he asked next if I was a student. Technically, of course, I am but lay-people tend not to understand the arcane and esoteric distinctions we make between degrees and how far along we are within those degrees. I told him that I was a professor. “Good,” he said. He continued, “My son went to the university. In Guelph.” I smiled and nodded not knowing what to say. I was hoping the conversation was over. It wasn’t.

Taking me, apparently, for an authority and one who would confirm his worst suspicions, he said to me, “Our country is going down, isn’t it?” I wasn’t sure what he meant. He went on, “The French are taking over. You know, a hundred years ago, we didn’t have bilingual signs. People spoke whatever language they wanted and got along fine.” More accurately, a hundred years ago we didn’t have paved roads and cars – there really weren’t any signs beyond the most rudimentary: “Kingston: That way” or whatever. But he was technically correct – whatever signs there were, were most likely in English.  Hoping that the conversation was now over, I smiled and nodded.

Unfortunately, the conversation was not yet over. “You can’t get a job in the government without bilingualism. You have to be French.” I calmly said, “That isn’t the case.” He replied, somewhat agitated, “That isn’t what they tell me.” I’m not sure who this ‘they’ was. But, he had the answer, “They [he meant the French, this time] run Ontario from Ottawa, you know, if you’re English you can’t get a job. Just go to Hull [he likely meant a complex like Place des Portages].” I replied, again, “This is not the case. You have been misinformed.” He said, quite insistently, “They are taking over the country.”

At this point it was clear that he wasn’t going to let the conversation go and I really wanted to finish that chapter from Latour’s book before the work was done. (I have to return the book next week.) So I told him that I didn’t want to speak to him because I found him offensive. He said, “Offensive? You find me offensive.” I said, “Yes. I would prefer not to speak to you.” He answered, “I don’t care about your brother in law.” I said, again, “Please stop talking to me.”

But he had me. Boy did he ever! He had the trump card. To no one in particular he more or less yelled, “I pay taxes! I pay taxes! And a lot of them! I pay taxes.” 

Awhile later he shuffled out trying to stare me down.