Career Openings

Last night I dreamt I attended an opening. I cannot now recall what was being opened, but I do remember the Prime minister being there and remonstrating with me about the Dear Michelle series; she wanted to know who was “leaking” the information.

That I should have such a dream is not unusual. As a council functionary I am inclined as they say to attend the opening of an envelope, and earlier last night I had in reality attended the successful opening of the Estuary Arts Centre in Orewa. My role on such occasions is minor; usually it is to look after the press corp., which in Orewa consists of one reporter. Last night, without even that reporter to look after and seeking solace because Maggie was in Sydney and I would be returning to an empty house I made it my mission to look after the mayor and the sole attending cabinet minister Judith Tizard.

And what does that entail? Not a lot. Both are highly capable politicians (yes, I know, an oxymoron) highly capable of looking after themselves. Apart from an odd drink—a very odd drink: Rodney’s own avocado juice or some such—delivered to the minister, I did nothing for her. The mayor was a little more challenging: he too had drinks (more practically and I am sure enjoyably, red wine), but I had on top of that to look after the mayoral chains.

You’ll of course remember the embarrassment caused Waitakere City when its then mayor, Tim Shadbolt, lost the mayoral chains? Well, “my mayor” has a habit of giving ours away. At occasions such as last night he usually finds some kid to be pictured wearing the chains—the mayor says the chains are not the symbol of office, they are the symbol of the future, as is the kid, and it is right and proper that he, the mayor, passes the chains to the next generation. Well and good: the chosen kid is invariably and inevitably thrilled, but let’s consider this—I am the one charged with looking after those chains, and when, as last night, said kid goes for a wander among a throng of some three hundred people I get sincerely worried.

My job is not dissimilar to the American Secret Service protecting the president. I may not speak into my cufflinks but I do wear dark sunglasses. And when something goes wrong I can go into a mild panic (though giving of course the facade of calm) and activate a full security alert, which last night consisted of my asking everybody there I know: “have you seen that bloody Kid.”

I found the kid; I could see him across the crowded room. What I couldn’t see was the chains; he no longer had them! The mayor was in the middle of a television interview. The press was there, how had I missed that? I interrupted.

“Have you got the chains back?” I asked

“No. I thought you had,” replied the mayor.

“Shit!”

What?”

“Nothing. I’ll fix it.”

And fix it I fully intended to do but right at the moment I felt like a Secret Service agents who has just taken a bullet for the President.

Now, let me tell you something about Mayor John Law: last night without a plaque to unveil or a ribbon to cut he opened Orewa’s Estuary Arts Centre with “a cuddle with the Minister (Tizard).” The guy has style and substance. He also has a wicked, if somewhat malicious sense of humour, which last night manifested itself by waiting fully five minutes before pulling the chains out of his pocket and yelling across the room, “I've found them Mike.”

I took the chains. I looked at him. He saw the look. Fortunately for him he was spared the thought. The thought was: “Well, at least you’re not George Bush, but right now you come close.”

Last night I returned to my empty home. But now I was at least not on my own—I had my thoughts to accompany me. And, unlike my absent wife, they were not pretty.