JUST A GAL FROM GLIDDEN: Mastercard, moving and mayhem
By Kate Winquist
Where has October gone? Friday was Halloween, and I have to admit—I looked pretty scary in the mirror that morning. Overslept, scrambled to get a few things done, and sent my husband and two sons off to Rosetown to move a counter and a couple of desks. I would have gone too, but I had a doctor’s appointment and needed to prep ad and content lists for the papers. My brain was already thinking in Mastercard transactions by then.
Kalen—who you may remember from a previous column—had just finished a graveyard shift on the rig Thursday morning and drove straight to Kindersley to help out his Ma and Pa. Exhausted, he crashed on the couch and stayed there until being “rudely awakened” by his Dad making coffee and putting away dishes. Meanwhile, I was mentally checking off my to-do list… and wondering if Mastercard could pay for patience.
Earlier in the week, our son Devin had helped move shelving and the Rosetown archives, spanning 1910 to the present. First come, first served in this household—he arrived earlier and claimed the spare bedroom before his brother.
The boys needed to get back to their own commitments later Friday, so they set off in their vehicles toward Rosetown. Not long after, my phone rang. It was Robert: “Ummm… I’m on the side of the road, stopped by the police. My truck plates have expired.”
Calm as a cucumber, he waited while I rushed to pay the renewal online. Thankfully, the officer let him go with a warning. While I was at it, I discovered my own car plates had expired yesterday. Thank goodness for Mastercard!
Meanwhile, Devin and Kalen—already in Rosetown—were wondering where Dad was. I told them to grab a coffee and start loading desks… except David hadn’t cleared his own desk yet. Eventually, Robert arrived, David emptied his files, and everything got moved. Success! Or so we thought.
Poor Simone—the lovely little French lady with a razor-sharp sense of humour—was on her last day at The Rosetown Eagle, tasked with selling off remaining stationery and shelving. Just our luck, the internet vanished during the move. Kaput. Finis. Gone. Ian and David couldn’t email their articles and photos. Plan B: everything went on a thumb drive, and Ian sent it from home. Simone’s last day wasn’t exactly memorable for the right reasons, but I hope she comes back to visit—maybe I can convince her to work for quarters? Right, Simone? Au revoir, dear lady.
Back home, I printed off the new vehicle registrations… and that’s when Robert said, “I think I lost the credit card.” The Mastercard—the one I’d used to pay the plates. He had the physical card; I had it memorized. After a frantic search and a quick lock on the app, the card was safe—no mysterious purchases beyond SGI and the gas station. Crisis averted. Postal strike over… for now.
By Friday evening, I was wiped out. But the little ghosts and goblins at the door brightened things up. We didn’t have as many visitors as last year, so there’s candy aplenty. We watched Game 6 of the World Series, cheering on the Blue Jays, hoping for their first championship in 32 years. Not meant to be Friday night—maybe Saturday. Wouldn’t that be something: the World Series back in Canada! Priceless. And for everything else… there’s Mastercard (if you can find it).