I don’t like suits. I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that I’m impersonating an adult every time I wear one. But it was State of the Province night, and that’s what people wear to those things.
I immediately understood the absurdity of my situation as I realized the entirety of my outfit was eclipsed by the cost of a ticket. My $15 Jingler’s sport coat, $12 Giant Tiger dress shirt, $40 Mark’s Work Warehouse jeans and $20 Walmart shoes dwarfed what the business elite paid to eat by over $100. Luckily I’m media, so I eat for free.
When I walked into the Fredericton Convention Centre I saw a sea of people dressed much better than I was. I don’t think they shop at Giant Tiger.
It’s easy to see why the event is such a high-class affair. The dinner and speech is held annually by the Fredericton Chamber of Commerce. The average net worth in the room means that the event sells out quickly, and there are 1,000 tickets. Don’t let the ornate legislature next door fool you, these are the people who really run the province.
I start looking for a familiar face. Someone I could talk to. I eventually find it in Alex, the news editor at that paper down the hill.
After a brief conversation about the people who surround us, and the fact we know none of them, we decide to try and find the media table.
We’re told that all the tables at the back were media. The room was filled with 100 large round tables, classily decorated and complete with wine. But all of the ones in the back couldn’t be for media. There aren’t that many journalists in the province. Alex goes to clarify; they mean the very back.
Behind all the paying guests was a line of what could be described as fancy school desks, no wine. Alex commented that we’ve been put at the kids table. I said they were trying to keep us away from any inebriated cabinet ministers.
Alex asked me what I expected in the speech. I said not much, there never is, especially with the budget just days away.
Then a group of about 10 people came and sat at the same desks. We asked which paper this one guy worked at. None, he worked for the either the chamber or the convention centre. We noted they sat him at the kids table; he said he was lucky they let him through the door.
I went to get a beer to go with my dinner. I asked if they had any Picaroons; she said no. Corona, Rickards, Alpine and Moosehead. I found this odd. You can walk out of the centre and see the new brewery across the river, but you can’t buy Fredericton’s famous beer at the speech.
After dinner, the host Marshal Button, a.k.a. Lucien, filled time before the Premier’s speech. The funniest part was the uneasy reception the crowd gave to a joke about fears the Oland murder trial may impact the cost of beer. Considering the sea of suits, many of whom would have been friends with both the murder and the victim, this was probably not the crowd to tell that joke to. I found it funny.
The Premier was introduced by a German businessman and began to play to the audience. There really wasn’t much in the speech: a commitment not to touch healthcare and education, a warning that tax increases are likely on the horizon and an odd anecdote about a troubled kid he couldn’t save. Just the thing to make us believe we elected the right man.
After the speech I went to the Picaroons Brewtique and bought a four-pack. I told the bearded man at the cash how it was odd that he was a few blocks down the street, yet his beer wasn’t being served at the speech. He smiled and through a chuckle said “yeah” as he shrugged his shoulders.
Well, at least they didn’t try to sell Covered Bridge chips.
