There's a great line that most movie buffs remember fondly from "The Fugitive" largely because of its unambiguous embrace of total and absolute honesty, and its utter disdain for situational and phoney niceness.
Deputy Marshall Samuel Gerard (Tommy Lee Jones) has cornered accused wife killer Richard Kimble (Harrison Ford) after a chase through a series of watery tunnels. The fugitive stands inches and seconds away from what would undoubtedly amount to a fatal plunge over a gigantic waterfall.
Believing (as does the audience) that he might receive at least a twinge of understanding from the cop, given the futility and apparent finality of his situation, Kimble screams loudly over the sound of the falls: "I didn't kill my wife!"
But Gerard, ignoring the good doctor's plight and desperation, and in a drawly voice, responds in shockingly frank fashion, devoid of an ounce of sympathy: "I don't care."
Kimble then does a swan dive over the falls, and, well, movie fans know the rest.
So here comes the quantum leap (even bigger than the leap of Dr. Kimble): it was this glorious summer that prompted me to think of that line from "The Fugitive," believe it or not (stick with me, now). This nearly-unprecedented dose of magnificent sunshine has lowered my tolerance for those who have tried to rain, so to speak, on just the grandest few months of weather I can recall in recent times (complete with a spring, for nature's sake). Day after day after day of 20-degree-plus temperatures, a hot sun, with cut-off jeans and tee shirt the only required clothing.
But, uh-oh, we're told that lawns in St. John's are in desperate need of some rainfall.
Well, guess what?
I don't care.
The farmers need water for their crops.
I know. I know. It's motherhood. We're supposed to feel for the farmers. And it'll cost us in the long run in the grocery stores.
Guess what?
I don't care.
There's a polar bear up north somewhere (maybe sipping on a Coca-Cola in one of those sappy commercials that used to run constantly before movies at the Avalon Mall) who seems to have run out of ice.
Our hearts are supposed to go out to him. Most normal hearts probably do beat for the poor old bear.
Guess what?
I don't care.
This unusual "heat" wave is part and parcel, some say, of global warming, an environmental disaster that's upon us.
Yes, for sure, it makes sense to worry about future generations. And nice people do.
But guess what I'm thinking as I bask in the sun like a beached whale next to the pool (our family's little plunge into decadence), taking in the magnificent and un-foggy view of Flatrock?
I don't care.
Health officials tell us too much sun is not good for the body. Keep an eye peeled, in a manner of speaking, on that UV index.
Guess what?
I don't care.
Salmon rivers have been closed because of low water levels; the anglers are going through cast withdrawal, joining 12-step groups to commiserate with each other about the lack of fishing time.
Guess what?
I don't care. (Anyway, I've already caught more than my quota of trout).
Okay, I know. This is sounding stupid, inane, immature and selfish.
Guess what?
I don't care.
We deserve this summer. We've earned it.
(P.S. - As I get set to send this piece of cynicism to Mr. Editor, we've had a couple of days of rain and cool temperature: penance for me from the weather gods for my environmental apathy).
Bob Wakeham has spent more than 30 years as a journalist in Newfoundland and Labrador. He can be reached by email at bwakeham@nl.rogers.com.
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