‘Twas October 19, and I was watching what every other campus Conservative was: the Antiques Roadshow marathon. Sure, the election was happening, but I wasn’t worried about the result, as I was confident Harper would get another majority. What’s not to love about a leader with the charisma, social skills, and looks of an accountant?
I interrupted the riveting analysis of a Tennessee bookshelf, and turned to CBC’s Peter Mansbridge make the election call. I prepared myself to be serenaded by good ol’ Peter announcing another Conservative government; instead, I was ambushed with this: “Trudeau has beaten Stephen Harper.” My jaw/heart/Molson Canadian dropped, and the five stages of Conservative grief began.
Denial: Oh, silly Peter, please read the teleprompter correctly. There’s no way Canadians would pick a handsome, likeable, positive person as prime minister. That’s just unpatriotic, borderline communist behaviour. [Flips to CTV] What, you guys are also saying Harper lost? Well, you’re communists anyways, you probably read the results wrong. [Flips to CNN] You guys messed the results up too? That’s weird. Well, Anderson Cooper’s a commie, so that makes sense. [Flips to CPAC] Hey, it’s Stephen Harper admitting the Conservatives lost. Well, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, the bloody communist. . . Wait, what?
Anger: Damn it Peter, I thought I could trust you! I thought we were friends. I just finished getting my tattoo of your face with the caption “Thug Lyfe,” and this is how you treat me?! And to the Canadian voters: you want someone young and good-looking lying to you for the next four years, rather than a jaded, grey-haired politico? Rookie mistake, guys. High expectations lead to nothing but sadness, despair, and Stanley Cup riots.
Bargaining: Okay, Peter, hear me out: I’ll do anything. I swear to you. Just make the result change. Please? Pretty please, with a cherry on top? You don’t like cherries? Fine, I’ll give you a pineapple, or a potato, whatever your heart desires. My signed Stephen Harper poster? Yours. The limited-edition Brian Mulroney autobiography on VHS and Betamax? Take it. Just please, oh noble wizard, use your magic to change people’s minds.
Depression: Dear Peter: I have been in the fetal position for the past 72 hours, with no end in sight. The only thing keeping me going is the four-litre bucket of Costco vanilla ice cream, and three extra-large Costco pizzas. Actually, I’ve been inside a Costco for the past three days, hidden inside a bouncy castle; security suspects nothing so far. Also, I’ve listened to “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol 17 times. I worry that if I move on to The Fray, I’ll never get out of here.
Acceptance: You know what, Mr. Mansbridge? After looking into your deep, thoughtful eyes for a couple of hours, I’ve realized that it’s all going to be okay. Stephen Harper might be gone, but we’ll always have you and your oh-so-melodious voice to guide us Canadians. The Conservatives might be down now, but we’ll pick someone new, someone fresh, someone else with a weird affinity for sweater vests. And though the times may be tough for the boys in blue now, at least we have those magic herbs from Justin’s garden to get us through the next four years.
