HarleyDad and the Mountie

Quebec City is a wonderful place. It is a wonderful European-type city situated in the Western Hemisphere.

I was on the highway running between Quebec City and Montreal. Time was short in order to make our plane in Montreal. With me was one of our accountants who had a wicked sense of humor who was egging me on to drive faster and faster. And so I did. Eventually, divine justice came into balance, and a Mountie pulled me over for speeding.

Now in Quebec almost everybody speaks both French and English. The French language is greatly loved almost as much as it is in Paris and perhaps even more so. When in Paris, I noted that stop signs simply said "Stop" in English. In Quebec, they say "Arret." They would never say "Stop" in English.

HarleyDad learned many moons ago that he did not have the ear for French. Therefore he could speak only a few rudimentary words in French-words like oui, non, ou es toillette, et cetera. And his hearing ability was worse than his speaking ability. He could however, read a book in French or a newspaper. That left me in a peculiar position that I would have to have someone write something down for me to understand it.

Fortunately, my inability to hear was not passed on to Sparkey, who is fluent in French and speaks it like a native. Sparkie is in the military and eventually, thanks to the wisdom of our good government, he can try out his French on the Iraquies. I am sure it will be a big addition to our effort for him to communicate fluently with those Iraquies that have attended the Sorbonne or perhaps the Cordon Blu school of culinary arts. Ahh, to discuss Rodan with the Iraqui elite--that's the ticket. Perhaps a soufle to bridge the cultural gap. Ah yes, then to read the Koran in French. That will touch the heart of the toughest Iraqui.

The prospects and opportunity of Sparkie to speak French to the Iraquies has not been received with equanimity by the family of HarleyDad. Brokerbelle gets an upset stomach when she hears about it and begins to tear up. Princessbelle cried uncontrollably and stayed up all night. She then came to HarleyDad and began to discuss what efforts and geopolitical steps she could take to change this situation. HarleyDad told her Sparkie needed to do whatever the government said (and besides it would be great fun and he would be with all his friends over there). There were other serious discussions regarding war and peace and honor and duty. These explanations did not go far with Princessbelle, who went off crying again and mumbling something about sit- ins. But I digress. Back to the French language and mounties.

One of the amazing things is that when you get a ticket in another language, you know exactly what is being said even though it is in another language. So the mountie, even though he ascertains that I know not more than two or three words of French, goes through the entire drill in French even though he speaks English and even though I do not speak French. Worse yet, I understand every word he says.

He asks me if I know how fast I am going (answer-very, very fast), he asks me if I know that the speed limit is so many kilometers per hour (answer-what is a kilometer?), he asks to see my license. He writes the ticket, and ends by telling me to go the speed limit. And I understand every word he says.

He departs. I am sitting there wishing I was a beautiful blond that had blinked my way out of a ticket. My accountant friend is sitting in the back, laughing his head off.

I procede to the airport, figure out how to pay the ticket, conclude I probably can not put it on my expense account and finally catch my plane. The Quebec speeding ticket is now part of my international ticket collection.