43,645 People Waiting in Line for Inconvenient Convenience Store Alcohol-Shopping

The day has finally arrived. The Grand Opening of the Floating Barrel/Stilton's final book tour stop/etc...

The 'fleet' of water taxis to ferry the hundreds of people who have gathered waiting in line (headed by Lorina Rigaux, wearing her cursed scarf to protect against the October chill) is actually only four taxis. The day is ruined!

Or is it...

Photo credit: Government of Ontario Boating License Website

~~~

“Wait,” I say. “Is the figurehead on the bow a…skeleton? And are the sails torn ragged?”

“It appears so,” Marcus answers, squinting at the ship.

“Well that certainly is ominous,” I say. “It’s probably just decorated for Hallowe’en. It is just around the corner, after all.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” Marcus says, his voice not conveying much confidence. “I’ll text Steph and Suzie to ask them.”

He gets out his phone, types a quick message and waits for the reply. He does not have to wait long. It comes seconds later.

“I don’t know anything about Hallowe’en decorations,” Marcus reads the text allowed. “I’ll leave out the expletives, since the kids can hear us right now. Suffice it to say that the skeleton was not part of their plan. They will be here any moment.”

“Probably Galen’s idea,” I say, as if I am on a first name basis with evil Canadian billionaire and CEO of Loblaws Inc, the company leasing the ship from the Ontario government.

“I hate to interrupt,” the cargo-pant clad water taxi leader interjects, “but how are we going to get all these people there?”

“Yacht to join me on my seaworthy cruiser!” Shouts a loud voice from behind me.

I turn sharply and see Kathy Desmond, smartly dressed in her Stratford Yacht Club uniform:  bedazzled sailor’s hat, white and navy stripe handkerchief tied at a jaunty angle around her neck, oversized shell-covered pot earrings, navy and white striped boat-neck shirt and oversized baggy cargo jorts which hit flatteringly 5 inches below the knee.

Behind her stands a large group of similarly dressed people. At first glance, it appears that the entire Stratford Yacht Club is here.

“We figured that there would be this kind of trouble, so we all made the trip down to help out,” Kathy says, beaming.

“But none of you actually have boats,” I tell her, trying not to let disappointment creep into my voice.

“None of us own boats, true,” she admits. “But remember that weekend where I made us all get our boating licenses?”

I remember it vividly. Her arguments had been compelling. “Boating is life in this land of lakes, and with so many casual ways to get out on the water, it’s not surprising that not everyone has their licence—but there are plenty of good reasons to get one, besides the legal ones. If you are running a boat with a motor in it, you need to have a boating licence. There are no two ways about it. Having more licensed boaters means safer waterways, which means fewer headlines about drownings, accidents and mishaps.

“Boats have been around since the beginning time—in fact, without them, we probably would still all be stuck on our own continents just dreaming about what’s happening on the other side of the world. And if current trends count for anything, boating is just getting more popular. So being a bona fide sea captain gets you extra cool cred when you want to rock the sailor stripes or get an anchor tattoo. Also, people love friends with boats. Plus, you’ll be the coolest person on a dock when you actually can bring the boat with some style.”

I know that at least one person had gone out and gotten an anchor tattoo after Kathy’s persuasive speech. I’m looking at you, Gordon.

“We all rented boats,” Colm shouts, answering the question that I hadn’t yet asked.

“That’s 50 extra boats,” Kathy shouts proudly. “Each has a capacity of at least four people. That should be enough, right?”

The Third Rate Water Taxi Drivers all break out into spontaneous cheering. The applause is contagious and soon the whole crowd is whooping it up.

“What did I miss?” Steph asks coming up from behind me.

“The Stratford Yacht Club has saved the day!” I cheer.

“Let’s hope those life jackets are high quality,” Marcus adds shrewdly.