For Independence Day, my wife and I sheltered two spies from a foreign country currently on the verge of a deadly conflict with America.
Being on President Trump’s no-fly list, the two operatives drove to Herriman from Calgary, Alberta, to size up our ability to resist. Initially, they were quite encouraged.
Note: We would feel bad about harboring enemy agents but for the fact that they’re relatives — my brother-in-law and our niece — code names Gord and Jennifer. Wait, that’s their real names. Code names are Drag Strip and The Professor.
Being Canadians, the two agents were all “please” and “thank you” whenever they wanted to know some secret.
For example, Drag Strip noticed a lot of military aircraft flying over Herriman. He wanted to know how many helicopters we saw in a day. He seemed disheartened when I explained that I didn’t know because it happens so often that I have stopped noticing.
The Professor wanted to fly over the Salt Lake Valley and photograph the area for military installations and other potential trouble spots.
Instead, we drove up to Snowbird where I asked General Manager Dave Fields for permission to conduct a bit of spying. He was hesitant at first, wanting to know if the foreign agents planned to roll any boulders down the mountain.
Me: “No. They’re Canadians.”
Dave: “Oh, then no problem. The rules are plainly posted.”
We rode the tram to the top of the mountain, where I pointed out Camp Williams, Airport No. 2, Bingham Copper Mine, and various emergency rally points like shopping malls and LDS stake centers.
After the ride, we took them to investigate our food stockpiles and assess the average American caloric intake. Clearly they weren’t going to starve us to death.
The news got worse. They noticed our wide and carefully maintained invasion routes were prominent cordoned off with large UDOT cones and barrels. They saw so much fluorescent orange that it was clear we were setting up roadblocks.
Things didn’t get any better when they grilled us over gun control, of which we have little and what we do have is routinely ignored. Upon returning home, I showed them my garage.
Them: “Does your government permit average Americans such as yourself to own artillery?”
Me: “No, but we do anyway.”
As evening approached, we settled in to watch the fireworks. From our upper deck in Herriman, the entire valley is visible all the way into downtown Salt Lake City.
We were in the middle of discussing the disconcerting natures of the leadership of our respective countries when the first noticeable explosion occurred next door at 6:10 p.m. The sun was still up.
The Professor: “That’s a little early, don’t you think? Surely you have laws about fireworks?”
Me: “This is America. Our laws are more like really vague guidelines.”
It got crazier the lower the sun dropped. By the twilight’s last gleaming, the entire valley was a blanket of dazzling explosions. I could see rockets red glare bursting at the Smith’s Ballpark downtown.
As the smoke got thicker, and the explosions swelled to a continuous roar, our Canadian “guests” were obviously mulling over the reports they would be expected to transmit that night. Then my wife explained that what they were seeing would happen all over again in another 20 days.
Agents Drag Strip and The Professor slipped away the following morning. I mentally summed up their reports in my head.
THEM: “Those people are nuts.”
ME: “Oh, yeah. And free, too.”
