Shopping for power with limo, minions included
Aman walks into a powerbroker store. “I would like some power, please.” The person behind the counter looks up, notes the suit and waving wallet and is immediately attentive.
“What kind of power would sir be looking for?”
“I am a politician and I want the kind of power that enables me to order people about, shout, call them names . . . and get away with it.”
“Hmm . . . you will want the Ministerial model with Teflon coating that is sarcasm resistant. It comes in various finishes — medium, well done or rare. The deluxe version comes with built-in sense of entitlement.”
“That sounds like the kind of power I need. And I do like power — being a Minister is a bit like being a monarch, with your own kingdom being a government department.
“I want the power that makes people afraid and run around and quake in their boots when I tell them to do what I want — especially when I ignore their advice and make them run programmes that lack evidence and squander public money because it’s ME that says so.
“That’s my kind of power, and I want it NOW and I want RESPECT and I want a Ministerial limo with tinted windows.
“Plus I want minions — lots of minions I can blame when thing go wrong.”
The man marches up and down, shouting and stabbing the air with a finger.
“Okay, okay, sir . . .calm down. I will see if we have an extra large to accommodate your XXL ego.”
“I want to try this one on — it says Minister of Nearly Everything on the label. Does it have a matching stab-proof vest?”
“Yes, indeed sir. This design protects from unforeseen stabs in the back and from the front.”
“And how much is this one?” asks the man, holding up a motheaten power ensemble.
“That option is second-hand — it was passed on by a politician ousted in a coup. Although a bit battered, it still retains some of its original skull-duggery and scheming power.”
“Great, I’ll take that one for weekdays and this one for travelling on pointless overseas junkets. Do these come with guaranteed power supply?”
“Sir, I am becoming a little concerned by your behaviour. It is often said that those who lust after power are not the sort who should be given any, and I am beginning to thing you are one of that type.”
“I am not just any MP — I am a Minister. How dare you question me?
“I am right — and even when I am wrong, I am still right. The best form of defence is to attack — so don’t start provoking me.
“Of course, if you donate to my election campaign then I will work to advance the power of power brokers such as yourself and — wink, wink— there might be a knighthood lying around that might be your size.”
“Sorry, sir — I would be failing in my duty if I was to give you all this power without some sense of how you would use it to improve the lives of your constituents.”
“Constit. . .uents — they are all just plebs who understand nothing of the power games we play in Parliament. It pays better than I could earn as a lawyer . . . and, ooh, all that power.”
And the man starts dancing around, singing: “I got the power.”
“Sir, I would like you to leave now before I call the police.”
“Police, smolice . . . the power is mine and I can have you arrested for disturbing my piece of mind.”
“But the store is mine and it is now closed. Stick your fingers in a plug socket if you want to feel power. Come back when your sense of entitlement has diminished.”