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Scene: Office of the Minister of National Security.
Phone rings…
Minister Warner: “Good afternoon, Jack speaking.”
Acting COP Williams: “Good afternoon Jack, Stephen here.”
Warner: “Ah, Stephen, how are you today?”
Williams: “Well, actually, I’ve had the President on the phone to me.”
Warner: “Maxwell called you?”
Williams: “Yes, and he was calling from his home.”
Warner: “Cheups. Everytime I hear about Maxwell and his house, I get a craving for coffee. That’s why I only sleep 4 hours a night; it’s all this damn coffee. I can’t wait for President Camomile to take over…”
Williams: Well, anyway Minister, this one is pressing and I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
Warner: “Stephen, it’s Carnival. I’ve spent most of the day watching drunken adults, dressed in bizarre clothes talking sorts of gibberish and generally making fools of themselves.”
Williams: “You’ve been playing mas?”
Warner: “No, we had a Cabinet retreat.”
Williams: “Ahmmm… Minister, the President is very concerned about all of these drink driving accidents. He wants to know what we’re doing about it.”
Warner: “Did you tell him our plan?”
Williams: “Well, I told him about the zero tolerance thing but he wasn’t happy with how we have been implementing it.”
Warner: “Why not?”
Williams: “Well, he said that zero tolerance doesn’t mean that we breathalyse nobody. He said that we should breathalyse everyone and charge anyone over the limit.”
Warner: “Did you tell him that this would make the government unpopular and lose us votes? What the young people would sing about: ‘Rum til I die suddenly in a car accident and leave my girlfriend for Raymond Ramnarine to marrid’?”
Williams: “He said our duty is to protect the public, not protect the politicians.”
Warner: “What else did he say?”
Williams: “He asked why we’re paying so much overtime, yet we’re still always undermanned.”
Warner: “Did you tell him that we have a large number of officers off sick with flu? Flu is always a problem at this time of year.”
Williams: “I told him that but he seemed to be suggesting that these officers on sick leave are actually providing security at the fetes and with the bands.”
Warner: “Nonsense. What does he base these ridiculous accusations on?”
Williams: “Well, he emailed me a photo with four policemen who work at the President’s House and are currently on sick leave. It was taken at Beach House and they were wearing black security jerseys.”
Warner: “You would think he would be too old to do anything but rubber stamp our legislation eh? Cheups.”
Williams: “Anyway, the President asked why we are not breathalysing more people at this time of year.”
Warner: “Stephen, you know and I know that it’s just wrong to stop decent citizens and subject them to a breath test. We have to target those we believe are drinking and driving.”
Williams: “I agree. I tried to explain to the President that officers are trained to act on police intelligence.”
Warner: “Good. What did he say?”
Williams: “He said I shouldn’t use the words ‘police’ and ‘intelligence’ in the same sentence. He said that it doesn’t take a detective to work out that if there are 4,000 people at an all-inclusive fete and a third as many vehicles, then the best way to ensure road safety is to breathalyse everyone with a car key.”
Warner: “Is he mad? That would delay everyone from driving to the next fete.”
Williams: “Well, he seemed to think that this would send a strong message and help to stop people drinking and driving and therefore save lives.”
Warner: “Did you point out that most cars have designated drivers?”
Williams: “He said that people have the wrong idea about designated drivers. When they designate a driver, it just means that he is designated to carry the group home but he drinks as much as everyone else.”
Warner: “So it’s not enough to criticise political appointees eh? He wants to question designated drivers too. Cheups. Stall him until the next President is sworn in, oui. I will take my chances with President Corona.”
Editor’s Note: This column is pure satire and all conversations are faked. No offence is meant at parties named; although they probably deserve it.
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Filbert Street is a real columnist who works in a fantasy world that sometimes resembles our own.
