By Jim Hagarty
1994
Over at the federal Bureau of Rights and Privileges, Maggie Tapwater is busy handling an office full of applicants.
“Next! “ she calls out.
“Hi. I’m Herman Nairdoowel and I’m …”
“Yes, yes. Are you applying for a right or a privilege?”
“A right.”
“And what right are you applying for, please?” asks Ms. Tapwater.
“The right to steal,” says Herman.
“Yes, yes. And what is the basis of your application, please?”
“Well, if I know somebody who has a lot of stuff, and I don’t have very much stuff, why can’t I just go take some of his stuff?”
“OK, well, fill out this form and we’ll let you know in about six weeks. Hey, what happened to my pen?”
“Next!” she cries out.
“Hello there, I’m Sue Exheighted and I would like to apply for the right to perform laptop dancing.”
“Ah, you mean lap dancing. Perhaps you didn’t know. You just got that right three weeks ago.”
“No,” answers Sue. “I mean laptop dancing. You see, I take this laptop computer, and strap it around my waist and …”
“NEXT!” yells a flustered Ms. Tapwater. “Please step aside Ms. Exheighted. There are people waiting.”
“Howdy. My name is Jag Bhaduria. I’m an member of Parliament and I’d like the right to line up about 30,000 of my constituents against a wall and take my gun and …”
“Mr. Bhaduria. How many times do I have to tell you? You’ll need a special licence for that. Please check down the hall at the Bureau of Righteous Indignation and Retribution. They’ll help you there.”
“Next!”
“Pardon me, ma’am, my name is Ian Sest and I would like the right to marry my sister.”
“Reason please.”
“Well, we already live together as it is and have all the same relatives and she could keep her name and …”
“Fill out this form,” a tired Ms. Tapwater says.
“Next!” she calls to the crowded waiting room.
“Hi there. I’m Svend Robinson. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Robinson. You’re kind of a regular around here, aren’t you? Weren’t you in just recently about the right to wear only bikini briefs in the House of Commons during summer sittings?”
“No, I think that was Sheila Copps.”
“Oh yes, that’s right. And how can we help you today, Mr. Robinson?”
“Well, I’d like the right to die, please.”
“Right to die. Right to die. Just let me look that up. Right to date, right to dance, right to dawdle. Oh, here it is. Right to die.
“Mmmm. It says here you already have that right.”
“What?”
“Yes. In fact, beside Right to Die in the directory it says, see Guarantee. Apparently, you are guaranteed the right to die.”
“How?”
“Just let me read this. Ah, here it is. Yes. Every living thing comes with a guarantee that it will die. So, I suppose you don’t even need the right to die.”
“Alright then, how about the right to kill? Have you got anything on that yet?”
“No, that one’s still open although a Mr. Bhaduria might be applying for that. In any case, here’s the form. Take a seat please and fill it out.”
“Next!”
An hour later, an exhausted Maggie Tapwater has earned the right to go home where she complains to her husband for an hour about her job.
“You have a right to be upset,” he told her.
And suddenly, she didn’t feel so left out.
