The Public Service Alliance of Canada is on strike. It's a stressful time when the money is as tight as it is right now. And there's Christmas and the attendant expenses looming just over the horizon. A submariner died in a fire last week, and out of respect for him, those of us in the Public Service who work for the Navy were exempt from the general strike action that was happening everywhere else across the country. The Lieutenant (N)'s service was held on Wednesday. On Thursday morning, I woke up to go to work, and like the stinkbucket he is, the Boy woke up too early and came downstairs to see me off. You can hear him upstairs as he gets out of bed and his footsteps carry along the upstairs hall. He then tries to sneak partway down the steps where his little face pokes slyly around the bannister. "Boo!" he says but his stealthy approach has failed and I'm already looking up at him. Then, oddly, he asks me:
Boy: Daddy, are you on strike today?
Me: No sweetheart. Not today.
I'm wondering how he's heard of this. The question takes me by surprise. More surprising is when I show up at work and, wouldn't you know, I'm on strike. I and two others in the office didn't get the phone call and we show up for work. There was no picket line at our entrance, so who knew? I was at work for over two hours before I found out why it was so quiet. I leave work and gets lots of chores done during my day without pay, and I go home to verbally fret about losing about $100 a day while the strike lasts. So today is Day One and at the time there's no word to say go back to work tomorrow - that'll be $200 dollars.
It's Thursday evening and I'm in the commode while a Boy is getting ready for bed, the day almost done. His little voice is heard outside the door.
Boy: Daddy, I have money. You can have my money for when you're on strike.
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