eh) This Week April 4, 1990. Page M7 HUMOR Wanted: out-of-work spy ’*m thinking of picking up a batman. Stand easy, Animal Rightsters! ’'m not talking about a pest exterminator and ’'m certainly not referring to the winged hero of that recent over-hyped movie by thé same name. I’m talking about the British version of batman. Back in the days when Old Blighty was an imperial power to be reckoned with, British officers did their duty accompanied by a wee servant chappie whose job it was to make the officer as comfortable as possible under the circumstances—brew his tea, make sure his helmet was properly ironed—that sort of thing. The British batman was a kind of frontline valet/ maid/ cheerleader/ mother—Don Quix- ote had Sancho Panza, the Lone Ranger had Tonto, George Bush has Brian Mulroney... And I want one of my own. Let’s face it—it’s been years since my mother brought me tea or laid out my clothes for school, and my Significant Other all but snaps my head off if I even so much as suggest that I deserve to be waited on daily bread in that time-honored, traditional- communist way—by spying and informing on their friends and neighbors. Gorby and his. infernal Glasnost wiped out that lucrative way of life practically overnight. Today, the streets of every back European hamlet from Aachen, West Germany, to Zagreb, Yugoslavia, are clogged with nervous, weasely-looking men and women in shabby trenchcoats and dark glasses, crouched in dark doorways or hunched over cafe tables, eagerly begging for the chance to sell one tiny secret, whisper one unsubstantiat- ed rumor, betray one minor relative—anything to keep their professional dignity intact. And there are lots of them. East Germany alone had 85,000 agents and 109,000 regular informants. This in a country with a population slightly more than half Canada’s. In the other ex-Soviet satellites it’s the same story. Thousands of hardworking turncoats sacked without so much as a letter of recom- mendation. But it’s not all bleak. Think of the : talents these hand, foot and backrub. And the kids? For- ex-spies could bring to the job of batman. get it. Assign- Locked my- ing them bat- man duties would mean a whole new Hil Basie-Blae By ARTHUR BLACK self out of the house? These guys could slip the front door deadbolt with chapter in their allowance contract, not to mention aug- mented cost of living allotment, retirement benefits and sick pay provisions. Besides, they'd only be available for a half- hour a day—between Cheers and Let’s Make a Deal. Nope, there’s not much hope of finding my batman on the local labor front. I'll have to look overseas. Fortunately, my timing couldn’t be better. Right now, there’s an absolute glut of people with batman (let's be fair: batperson) potential flooding the European market. Needy people. Desperate people. Trained and clever and available people. Spies. Well...ex-spies, really. The recent political convulsions over there have left millions of East Europeans in turmoil, most of them euphoric, but many of them...less so. Before the Big Thaw, hundreds of thousands of folks behind the Iron Curtain earned their The many tricks of an f the king was in the counting house counting out his money and the queen was in the kitchen eating bread and honey, where was the accountant? Probably at the computer, doing something funny. Accountants do the strangest things with time. By visiting one you can make your year end any time it is convenient. There are merchants who-are so out of sync that their year ends May 31 and their new one begins June 1. Their accountant told them how to do it. Accountants’ wives can plan their New Years parties for April and get away with it. a forged credit card quicker than you can say Kim Philby. Car won't start? Any half decent spy could hot wire my Toyota blindfolded before tea. Oh, itll be grand, having my very own ex-secret-agent-cum-batman. Great family por- taits of course—after all, these guys cut their photographic teeth on microfilm and infra-red, shooting top-secret documents on cameras small enough to hide up your nose. Great cocktails (remember Bond? “A martini...extra dry...shaken, not stirred.”) Great after-dinner gossip too. “Why I remember the time that Kruschev asked my advice about Castro. ‘Nick, sweetheart, I said, ‘the guy’s a bush hippy. Cut im loose’...” Oh, I can hardly wait. I want: my ex- undercover batman now. Send one over, Eu- rope—I'll be waiting. On the third bench in from the main park entrance. I'll be wearing a single earring, reading a copy of Maclean’s upside down and whistling the Third Man Theme. Off key. accountant’s trade know what power they have over businessmen, but they certainly keep them scared. They should listen to their mothers as well as they listen to their accountants. Accountants are like pet pigs. Not everyone wants one, but those who keep them adore them. The one I’ve got has proven to be a joy to have around. Before she came, I sent any money I received straight to the government. Sometimes I didn’t even cash the cheque, just endorsed it and mailed it to Ottawa. It was going to end up there anyhow, so I didn’t worry myself unneces- Accountants can juggle the calendar so that the first sarily with the bookkeeping. My account- ant says I was three months wrong. She have 30 days and the fourth has 31, with one free day By JOAN MYLES figured out that they owe me money. Ac- cording to her per year. They say they do this to even out pay periods. and cash flow, but I think it gives them a kick when no one but the accountant knows what day it is. They have cultivated an image of quiet, trustworthy men with no sense of humor. It’s a sham. In the first place, a lot of them are women. Secondly, they do have a sense of humor, but it is warped. At number crunchers’ luncheons and accountants’ conferences, they swap stories about where they hid the missing day, then they laugh themselves silly. They are terrible bullies. If I had a penny for each time an editor told me, “My accountant won't let me do that,” I'd be rich. Accountants tell people when to pay their bills, who to take to lunch and what size of car to drive. I don’t calculations, I lose every time I sit down at my desk. Every- thing I touch in the line of business can be written off. She does love a pun. Instead of using the backs of envelopes for scratch pads, I should be buying reams of paper and entering the cost as an expense. The typewriter, with all the bells and whistles that I appreciate, is depreciating at an alarming rate. Soon I can charge the government for storage. I ought to take editors to lunch. She gave me a lecture because I wasn’t spending enough money. She’s my kind of accountant. If there isn’t a National Account- ants Day, there should be. They could schedule it for that free day that is still floating around somewhere. Happy New Year! A DAY IN THE LIFE OF THE EARTH a PUBLIC SYMPOSIUM sponsored by the PACIFIC SECTION, GEOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION OF CANADA at the NEWCOMBE AUDITORIUM 8:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. April 7, 1990 EARTHQUAKES DINOSAURS AND BIRDS LAND USE and DEVELOPMENT VOLCANOES OIL SPILLS ANCIENT ENVIRONMENTS OF B.C. GLOBAL CHANGE admission $5.00 at the door For information phone: 721-7326 PROFESSIONAL SERVICE. Congratulations for outstanding service to his clientele - a specialist in financial planning and money matters. RALPH EINARSON ] CANADA LIFE FINANCIAL SERVICES 03-1803 DOUGLAS ST. 385-1 ay B.C. 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