In the name of transparency, I am here going to reveal to you, dear readers, that the “H” in my name stands for Harold, which was the name of my father’s father.
My mother refused to let my father name me Harold after his father because, she argued (quite rightly, I would add), no child deserves to go though life with the name “Harry Payne”. Conversely, my father refused to let my mother name me Cameron because, he argued (somewhat less convincingly, given some of my early adult endeavours), no child deserves to go through life with the name “Cam Payne”. In the end, they settled on Scott.
And with that, you know all there is to know about me. Do your worst, Ed Whelan.
Burt Likko 
Will Truman 
Teacher 
Mary 
James K 
Jaybird 
Borat: “I do a picture, only small, of the Tishnik Masacre. Where many Uzbeks…crushed!”
Kindly Gray Hippie: “How did you feel when you drew this?”
Borat: “Very proud!”.
KGH: “I’m just listening with sadness…a little sadness for your people…?”
Borat: “Yes…no, it is not sad. It is us who do the kill!”
When in doubt,
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Please don’t make me laugh! It hurts.
In the interest of full disclosure: I am not the Freddie deBoer who was arrested for securities fraud in the ’80s.
In the interest of fuller disclosure: I am the Nathan P. Origer who was arrested for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest in 2006.
Now that I know your middle name is Harold, I’ll have to discount most of what you write. Most Harolds are incorrect 65% of the time.
Has Enos Duane chimed in yet?
Funny story riffing off of Freddie and Nathan’s comments.
In my former life, I worked on an energy efficiency campaign that was being run province (think state) wide. This meant that I wound up doing a lot of traveling to a variety of pretty small towns throughout Alberta that I might not otherwise have had the initiative to go see.
This campaign ran through the winter and so I wound up in some interesting driving predicaments. On one particular day, I was due to engage in a lot of traveling, driving from Calgary to Edson and then to Olds and finally back to Calgary all in about 32 hours (you can Goggle map that to get a sense if you so desire). I made the drive from Calgary to Edson and did the event that I was there to do. When I started packing up I realized that it had started to pour with snow. I had to decide the following,
“Do I want to brave the snow and drive through the night to get to Olds so that I can hole up in a hotel room that will be literally 30 seconds from where I need to be in the morning? Or do I want to see if I can get a room here in Edson and hole up until really f’ing early in the morning so that I can make the drive when it hopefully isn’t snowing?”
I opted to brave the snow.
So I packed up my car and started to head back out of town the way that I had come in. I turned on to the main drag and within seconds realized that I was going the wrong way on a one way street in what amounted to a snow storm (the headlights, of course, tipped me off). So I turned into the first parking lot I saw, thankful that no accident had ensued.
Of course, the one f’ing RCMP patroller in all of town happened to be on that very street at the very moment when I turned on to it going the wrong way and so no sooner had I come to a stop in the parking and breathed a sigh of relief than the lights came on and the siren went “Whooooo!”
The copper pulled in behind me as I shifted into park and rolled down my window. He saunters up beside me and says, “Well, I guess you know why I’m here. I don’t recognize you, where you from?”
I responded that I was from Calgary, to which he replied, “Yeah, that’s a good thing. If you were local I’d haul you in for doing something so stupid.”
I responded by saying that I hadn’t realized I’d come into town on a one way and that the street lines hadn’t been visible given the snow, but agreed that it had been a stupid move and was glad I’d been able to pull off quickly and not cause an accident.
The cop then informed me that I seemed nice enough, but that he would need my license and registration to run a background on me before he could let me go. I obliged his request.
While he was running the background his partner did the obligatory shine his flashlight into the back of my car to check its contents to the best ofhis ability without cause to order a search. About three minutes later, the first cop comes back, shines his flashlight right in my window basically blinding me and asks, “What colour are your eyes?”
Unable to see a thing, I dead panned, “Hazel…”
To which he responded, “Good, if you’d said blue you’d be in a whole heap of trouble. Go down the street here a block and take a left. That’ll take you straight outta town. Drive safe.”
He gave me my license and registration and went on his way.
Had I not worked in a bank previously I might not to this day know what the hell he was talking about. But some years back I had a background done on me to work for a large bank. The internal security check revealed “irregularities” with my name and I was sent to my local RCMP station to have an official criminal background check done.
The RCMP officer told me that the “irregularities” that turned up were that there was another Scott Harold Payne, with the same birth date, who was roughly my height and weight, but with blue eyes who had, “done some very bad stuff.”
I think Cameron would have been a fine name.
Scott, that is epic.
Notoriously epic. Wow.
But – why leave a story like that buried in the comments. That’s a post right there.
Eh, not really the kind of thing that I would generally think to publish as a post. Funny in the comments, but nothing particularly pertinent or relevant for the readership.
This post itself was barely worth publishing, except that it made me chuckle and was a slightly irreverent take on the whole Whelan/publius affair.
Funny in the comments, but nothing particularly pertinent or relevant for the readership.
But Scott – funny is pertinent & relevant!
When I started blogging, I promised my soon-to-be-wife that I wouldn’t publish a “my favourite toothpaste blog” — the kind of banal personal diary shit that seems all too prevalent in the medium. That story skirts too close to that edge for me.
Huh. Well I suppose. Having the same name as a wanted felon isn’t quite the same as your favorite toothpaste but I get your point….
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