Ethic diversity

Most of us like to think we are good people. That, when faced with a moral decision, we would make the right choice, do the right thing. Maybe because we grow up with very clear examples of right and wrong, good guys and bad guys and those corny Mormon commercials. But sometimes it isn’t obvious. What happens when the line isn’t clear? When, rather than black and white, things get into that grey area of morality? How do you decide which decision is the right one?

Sure, I majored in philosophy in my one year of university, and during that year I had an ethics course in which I probably should have learned the answers to these questions. But as it turned out, Intro to Ethics was scheduled at 4:30, a time of the day I had already scheduled as Intro to Me Taking a Nap and Sometimes Waking Up Embarrassed Because I Was Totally Snoring. I’d like to think that my not being able to stay awake past 4 p.m. has contributed to my current inability to figure out the right thing to do.

Case in point: I was on Ste-Catherine the other day picking up essential supplies for the weekend, i.e. Southern Comfort and Jack Daniels (for a cocktail I like to call Trailer Smash). And I had been thinking about how, if I had to change professions, I’d really like to be a strip club barker, you know, those guys who stand outside peeler bars trying to promote their fine establishment by telling people that it’s “Disneyland for the hand.” Except I’d like to be a barker at a gay strip club because I could spend the day throwing ridiculous rhymes, slogans and catchphrases and busting out every obscure penis euphemism I could find, not caring how random and confusing I was being since, as we all know, gay strip clubs don’t really need barkers.

“Ride the rainbow and burp the unicorn in here, boys!” I’d say. “This place is gayer than the stag scene in Highlander!”

As I was standing in line at the SAQ imagining how fun it would be to ask people to come in and “answer the Bone Phone,” I noticed the young couple directly in front of me raising their voice and having a pseudo-argument. It seemed normal enough, a young, scruffy looking Anglo dude and his French girlfriend bickering about what they were going to do that night. But the tone of the argument was strange. I couldn’t decide if it sounded weird because she was French and was having trouble enunciating English through her horrible lip piercing, or that they were both a little stoned/drunk. Or was it that the whole thing sounded a bit…rehearsed? Then, as their squabbling raised to a crescendo, out of the corner of my eye I noticed the man drop something heavy into the shopping bag he had slung over his shoulder. Immediately I knew what it was. And sure enough, as the woman left the store exasperated and needing a cigarette, I confirmed a small mickey of vodka had been stealthily deposited into his sack.

Strangely enough, my immediate reaction wasn’t disgust or fear or anger. My immediate reaction was, “Hmm, raising your voices? Weird move. Wouldn’t that get them more attention?” Then I realised that, maybe as polite Canadians our natural tendency is to look away when someone is airing their internal strife. Perhaps, in fact, it was the perfect cover. They had obviously done this before.

But now I was stuck with a dilemma. What do I do? Do I call these guys out for shoplifting? After all, stealing is wrong, right? If I did how would I do it? Would I grab his arm and scream “THIEF!” Or would I just quietly tell a staff member?

Or should I just let it slide? After all, when I was a kid, my friend and I raided the local Pharmaprix and filled a gym bag full of candy bars and Wrestling Superstars figurines. And really, who were they harming? But these weren’t kids. They were professionals. What do I do?

I’ll tell you what I did. Nothing. If this were a mom and pop store or a depanneur I would have. But I didn’t. You know why? Fuck the SAQ. Fuck their policy of charging ridiculous fees for importing your own wine, and fuck how they artificially boosted their prices to protect profits when the dollar fell. Instead of ratting out this couple, I stepped up to the counter and paid for my booze knowing that the higher price I paid had already factored in their five-finger discount. Have a drink on me, guys!

RIFF-RAFF@SYMPATICO.CA