I was getting nervous.
My client and I were in the middle of the process to change a Federal law,
and I hadn't had any follow-up call from our meeting in Ottawa with the Minister of Revenue.
The meeting had been a dead waste of time.
For the Minister. And for us.
It was obvious the Minister couldn't care a damn.
In fact, he had never even read our brief to prepare for the meeting.
He was there because his subordinates must have told him,
"You've got a duty to at least "look" like you're interested in the 'common folk.'
Not everybody coming to government with hat-in-hand are the 'big boys!'"
it didn't matter to this Minister of Revenue that my client was
a multi-million dollar Canadian corporation.
What mattered to this Minister was that he wasn't Coca-Cola or Pepsi-Cola.
The only thing that caught the Minister's interest were the letters "M.P."
after my name on my letterhead.
"No, no, your Highness, the letters don't stand for 'Member of Parliament!'"
The explanation that it stood for "Master of Piano" just confirmed his distaste for the entire meeting.
Little did he have any inkling at that moment in time that our brief was going to make the budget!.
For that matter, at that moment in time, we had no inkling either!
I called my client.
"Haven't had any follow-up. Time is getting closer to budget date.
I'm going to call the Minister of Finance. (That's the equivalent of the Executive VP to God!)!"
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.
A very, very long pause.
And then, the voice came back - slowly - slowly - very slowly....like a drawl.
"Claire.................I gotta hand it to you.....................YOU GOT BALLS!"
At first I was dumb fluxed. And then my inner voice put me straight.
"Asshole, that's a compliment.
This is no time for gender equality!
What do you think he should have said.....
'CLAIRE, YOU GOT 'TITS'!"
We were
