puff 241 Wheeler's Corner 50

Wheeler's Corner Christmas Special connecting Citizens wno care

50 21st December 2006

Merry Christmas and a happy New Year… I’ve often been asked ‘How can one be so perceptive about our present councillors and the staff’. It’s easy when you’ve got inside assistance, sadly I can not reveal who the reporter actually is…here is his story.

Mind Over Matter.

I was young when I realised that I had the power to read minds. I at no time considered this as exceptional because I thought everyone had this ability. My Father died before my third birthday and I never really knew him so I was very close to my Mother. She told everyone that I was sensitive, as I seemed to understand her innermost requests and was considerate of her wishes. Naturally she never realised I was reading her mind, in fact I didn’t perceive what was happening myself. It was only once I reached sixteen that it dawned on me that this power was not accessible to all. I decided not to share this awareness with others because it made me seem peculiar. The desire to conform to the behaviour around me was paramount in those early years. I mean who wants to be different. Kids I knew at school and college who were unconventional were called names and treated as oddballs and became outcasts. Of course having this gift had its positive and negative aspects. One of the hardest was keeping unwanted thoughts from flooding in at acceptable levels. While using public transport or amongst large groups massive amounts of unwanted thoughts would enter my head and sometimes the pressure simply became too vast to handle. By closing my eyes and counting one through ten I could clear my mind space and gain peace, so to speak… I believe many people can read others moods or match recognizable body language to emotions and such like. Some are better at this than others but I assure you that it is nothing like reading actual thoughts fully and deeply whenever you desire and at times when you may not desire. You could of course consider this mind reading ability a serious mental disorder or you could consider it a gift, I chose the latter after all who wants to be thought a nut case.

Finding a career to match this gift was truly difficult. My first thoughts were of the medical path, being able to read the thoughts of those who were ill would give me a head start in diagnosing what was wrong. But to work in the general medical field you need to be able to master the fear of blood. I couldn’t, I became a total write off at the sight of blood, so life in the fast lane of the medical world was out of the question. Being a dentist was also out of the question, just imagine knowing the thoughts going through the minds of those in the chair receiving the drill… besides that both these professions required a fifty thousand-dollar plus student loan and while my mother was nice she wasn’t rich.

I decided on journalism. Actually this selection was really decided for me and came about by accident. I was standing next to this local Ward councilor, he had gray hair was in his late sixties. He had just finished giving a boring and long-winded speech at our local community hall. I was present because I’d accompanied my wonderful Mother who took a great interest in local body affairs. He approached and shook my Mothers hand and said how wonderful it was to see her here while at the same time thinking ‘Who the hell is this old biddy, I can’t think of her name but I suppose I better speak to her’. At the very same time my Mother was thinking but didn’t say, ‘When will this stupid old fart retire, he’s been around for years’. Instead she said, thank you its nice to see you too, let me introduce my boy. I wish she wouldn’t call me boy after all I was nineteen and in my second year at Massey University. He, that is old fart, looked toward me and uttered ‘good to meet you’ while he was thinking, ‘Christ he looks a bit radical wearing a dumb ‘T’ shirt like that and has he never heard of a comb’. My ‘T’ shirt had printed in black on yellow the words STV FOR FAIR ELECTIONS my hair was combed using the best hair gel you could buy. So I decided on journalism and I would interview local and national politicians and reveal to the nation the shallowness that actually exists amongst them. A local political nobody, known at least to my Mother as ‘Old Fart’ had decided my fate. Oh and by the way, he was and still is an old fart and nobody gets away with insulting my Mother even in his or her most secret thoughts. Old fart had a Mother I think. So journalism it was to be…

I approached the Manawatu Standard which had been taken over by an Australian cum American who seemed to own all the papers in the world as well as half the TV stations. I was hired and my career was underway. The initial interviews were a breeze all I did was read the editors’ mind and give him the answers he wanted to hear. After about six months of odd reporting jobs or filling in for other reporters I was finally given a beat so to speak and believe it or not it was ‘local government’. The woman reporter whom I replaced had a nervous break down caused in the main by the total boredom of listening to the endless lectures dished out by councillors who had little or no interest in their so-called civic duty.

This was my chance for fame, my coming of age. My pen would make me famous in the news paper world, well in my hometown at least. Two days later came the big test, a full council meeting with all its pomp and glory.

Entering the council chamber I was greeted by two snowy haired elderly gentlemen. They fussed about me asking did I have enough pens and notebooks as they offered me a free pen with the council coat-of-arms in full colour embossed on it. They were unaware of the fact that I was reading their minds. One was thinking; now don’t blow it, win him over slowly and make him dependent on your insider information, offer him a drink after council. Is he old enough to drink? Does he actually shave, and God that hair-do… Why do all these old folk have a thing about my hair do? Now the other elderly chap was thinking; he’s just a kid, where have all the real reporters gone? How am I meant to charm this teenage bag of bones, and wearing a ‘T’ shirt to a council meeting, I’ll drop him a copy of the dress code… I was led way up in the clouds to the four reporters seats, shown how the speakers worked and left to my own devices.

A few minutes later people began to drift into the chamber, each time a new face appeared I was expecting them to sit in the public gallery but alas they would go and sit at the rows of staff tables set out below me. They all seemed to have dressed in their best duds, hair combed, looking very serious while others appeared sleepy. Their thoughts were very interesting here are just a few of them, why do we all have to be here? At least three thought; I’m missing Coronation Street! Another was thinking of his girl friend and I can’t share those thoughts with you. One woman kept thinking; Oh isn’t he wonderful so very wonderful, I never picked up who she was idolizing. Eighteen staff had appeared before the councillors started to arrive.

Now these chaps and chaplets were of course my targets for the next two or three hours. So I homed in on them. I was stunned at the range of thoughts that invaded my ever-alert mind. One Councilor looked up toward me, waved thinking I was a she then realising I was a he, his thoughts just buzzed as he thought that I might consider him… you know… Gay…Another was thinking as she looked toward the mayoral chair… I should be sitting up there…There was one that had the strangest thoughts, just one word really, Wow, wow, wow he had a head full of hair gel just like me. I recognised ‘Old Fart’. One was thinking, will his wife ever learn how to cook tonight’s meal had been the pits. Then his thoughts turned to his appearance and he fiddled with his tie. Then appeared this Irish guy, I could tell he was Irish because he kept humming this Irish folk-tune. One by one backsides both large and small occupied the council seats. The public arena which could at a pinch hold a couple of hundred contained at this point around ten they varied in shape, size and gender one even was dressed in shorts and long-socks.

Suddenly with much ado this little fellow announced with considerable huff and puff that the Mayor was now present. She, for she was of the female gender, entered and took her place on the throne. One councilor was thinking ‘Thank God she doesn’t trouble us with a prayer, being a bit of a left winger she’d most likely quote a verse from the ‘Red Flag’ ‘any apologies? Asked the Mayor in a very serious tone and with that this highlight on the local government agenda got into what could be termed low gear.

The meeting had been operational for about five minutes when my Mother entered the chamber and took her place among the public. Looking up toward me she stood and waved and without thinking I stood and waved back. She was thinking ‘Oh he looks so grown up and important sitting way up there, that’s my boy… I noticed that a couple of councillors started to wave as well and they were thinking ‘Oh the new kid reporter has noticed me…please print something nice. This tall female also thought, I hope he comments on my new outfit’. One young councilor was thinking ‘I wonder what church he attends. In the meantime the old gray haired guy who was sitting at the top table next to the Mayor was thinking ‘What’s all this standing and waving going on, this isn’t a super twelve match’. He thought about standing and telling the old dear in the public sector to sit down, but before he could get the words out my mum sat down and his thoughts moved to more intimate matters which as no doubt you’ll understand can not be printed here without great risk.

Now I would need endless pages to describe for you the range of thoughts that crisscrossed the minds of the councillors on this particular night. They ranged from ‘I hope hubby is recording Coronation Street’ to serous matters like, the next Health Board Meeting and almost everything in between. There were common thoughts among a group of eight or nine which went something like ‘I must remember when he votes this way I must do the same’ This common thought confused me because I thought each item was treated on its’ merit.

It wasn’t till I presented my draft to the editor the next day that I fully realised just how much my hidden ability to read minds has effected my report on the meeting. ‘God, you’ve got some headline stuff here, just imagine if I print it, it’ll blow this town apart’. I was stunned all I wrote was what they thought as against what they said. ‘Take this bit’ the editor said ‘Councilor X said, ‘I stand four Square against the rate increases suggested in the report whereas he was thinking who cares what it costs and it’ll make the Mayor look stupid’. How can I print that? How did you know what he was thinking? Oh no don’t ask me that question I thought to myself but he ignored my heartfelt request and asked anyway. ‘And this bit here, ‘Councilor Y stood and said ‘that her Ward needed flood relief before lumping extra rate charges on them’ while her thoughts were on the booties she was knitting for her new grand daughter’. What made you write that? Ah, ah sorry about that just blue line that bit’ I muttered softly. Anyway my item appeared on page two and read much the same as the boring ones produced by the reporter who had suffered a serous breakdown. Unless you can get the paper to report the facts the public will never learn the real truth about what’s going on in the Councillors’ minds, I thought to myself.

Now after reading this I hope you’ll understand that I do try to get the message out about what’s going on inside of the heads of our local leaders. This short chubby guy who writes a sort of a column on local government matters and I met, had a chat. He believed in my ability to read minds and he never laughed, so now I pass on all my unacceptable information to him. He at least gets a great deal of it out to the public via his email and radio broadcast. When I introduced him to my mom he at least thought proper thoughts and I know that to be a fact…because I read his mind. I’m still with the Manawatu Standard and the editor is asking the American guy who owns the paper to post me to Washington USA. He reckons I’ll do real well there reading the minds of George Bush and his mates. From there the world is my oyster…so long as I keep leaders thoughts secret and create the impression that they are intelligent, bright and caring which I might add one in a hundred are.

Peter J Wheeler


Wheeler@inspire.net.nz
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