You're going to need a bigger boat - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson
Clarity is no longer possible in our fractured age, for society has split cleanly in two: port and starboard. Once minor nautical distinctions, these orientations now determine not only one’s politics, but one’s very humanity. A person cannot so much as order a coffee without revealing whether they veer port or lean starboard, and heaven help the sailor who admits to being ambidextrous.
What began as simple shipboard terminology has metastasized into full-blown ideology. Port-leaning citizens now accuse their starboard counterparts of listing dangerously, while those on starboard counter with claims that the port side is dragging the vessel down with soggy sentimentality. Gone are the days when Canadians could meet in the middle of the deck and admire the horizon.
The division has worked its way into daily life. Grocery shopping is fraught with tension, with ports favouring produce stacked on the left side of the aisle and starboards reaching firmly to the right. Bread shelves have become contested waters, where shoppers glare at each other across a gulf of rye. The deli counter is avoided altogether, as the slicing machine is seen as fundamentally biased in its lean. At self-checkout, tempers flare if one customer insists the scanner angles port when another clearly sees a starboard tilt.
Transportation has not escaped the schism either. Cyclists swear their handlebars turn more naturally toward port, while motorists insist their steering wheels pull starboard under the influence of real-world gravity. Public transit riders glare silently across the aisle, careful to position themselves in accordance with their loyalties.
Fashion has been swept up as well. Port types prefer jackets with buttons stitched on their side, while starboards argue that zippers naturally close more securely in their direction. Sock drawers are a source of whispered conflict, with some families splitting pairs down the middle, one sock for port, one for starboard, so no child is accused of ideological imbalance. Even shoelaces have come under scrutiny, with heated debates over whether the first loop should be tied on the port side or the starboard.
The cultural effects are just as stark. Movie theatres have seen ticket sales plummet after managers began asking patrons to state their preferred seating orientation. Entire hockey leagues have collapsed under disputes over which wing to cheer for, and referees are accused of being secretly tilted in one direction or the other. Tennis tournaments are cancelled outright, as the idea of switching sides halfway through is now considered treasonous.
Romance has become perilous terrain. Dating apps now require orientation disclosure and mixed-orientation couples are whispered about as though they were reckless pioneers. Port-leaning romantics insist on holding hands with their chosen side outward, while starboards argue the natural swing of the arm should dictate the arrangement. Wedding ceremonies that once asked the traditional, “You may now kiss the bride,” now include the mandatory question: “Do you promise to cleave unto port, or to starboard, all the days of your life?”
Families, too, are suffering. Thanksgiving dinners now feature an empty space where the turkey used to sit, as relatives refuse to carve across the aisle. Aunt Mildred will only pass potatoes port-side, while Uncle Gary steadfastly insists that gravy, like all good things, flows starboard. In such an atmosphere, dessert is no longer feasible.
Workplaces are not immune. Office cubicles are rearranged according to nautical preference, leading to long corridors where staff refuse to acknowledge their opposite numbers. Meetings begin with ceremonial declarations of alignment and memos must be written in mirrored formats. Water coolers stand untouched, as employees refuse to circle them in opposite directions.
Solutions are elusive. Some propose a return to rowing, an activity that, by its very nature, requires port and starboard to work together or risk endless circles. Others recommend scuttling the whole ship and beginning anew on rafts, where the distinction between sides may prove less important than the simple act of staying afloat. A small but vocal minority insists the answer lies in climbing the mast and living aloft, declaring themselves “above deck” while secretly enjoying the breeze of superiority.
Until then, Canadians are advised to tread carefully. If you must reveal your alignment, do so discreetly, and never assume the stranger beside you shares your tack. Observe gestures, monitor which foot leads on the staircase, note the subtle tilt of a coffee cup as it’s lifted to the lips. And should anyone ask you to pick a side, remember the old maritime adage: whichever way you lean, keep an eye on the lifeboats.