Sitting in the first class lounge at Toronto’s main airport, I drink my coffee and watch a steady stream of people in transit. Rich tourists, en route to a holiday in the Caribbean and dressed in expensive casual clothes, lug over packed suitcases down long marbled hallways. The hallways sit beneath expansive vaulted ceilings almost thirty feet high, and are bordered by massive glass windows which provide panoramic views of the outside. Children in tow, tickets clutched closely, these travelers rush about seeking directions from weary attendants to unknown destinations. The attendants, mostly forty something women, oblige with polite smiles and careful instructions.
Interspersed among the vacationers are businessmen wearing freshly pressed suits. With Blackberries in hand, they tug at wheeled suitcases which carry their belongings. They also rush to various destinations, but their step is certain in this familiar environment.
Large tired policemen, bored by the routine of long uneventful shifts, walk purposely through the airport. Sporting bullet proof vests and large guns on their utility belts, they are a reminder of order within chaos.
Lost in my thoughts, a friendly voice brings me back to the lounge where I sit.
“Mr. Aprov, would you like me to freshen up your coffee?”
I’m met by the cheerful eyes of an attractive red haired, twenty something hostess. Her hair is perfectly arranged, and her expensive uniform is immaculate. Her manner is pleasant, and she has a disarming smile.
“Yes, thank you” I reply carefully.
I try not to spoil the moment.
After she refills my cup, the hostess leaves, and I slowly return to my thoughts. I find it hard to resist watching her as she disappears down the plush carpeted hallway which leads from the lounge to the kitchen.
Afterwards, I pick up my Blackberry. My eye travels to the cell phone’s clock. Its late afternoon, and I have some time before my flight to LAX. I remember my daughter’s request to use my cell phone camera to snap pictures of celebrities when I arrive in Los Angeles. I hope I see no more than one.
From force of habit, I begin to check my emails, but before I access them, I quickly scan the CBC News page for the latest information on the current Canadian Budget. After reading various articles, and there are many, my eyes stop at a graph which displays the Canadian Federal Budgetary Deficit five years into the future.
The Canadian Government has delivered its 2010 budget. We’ll overspend by $54 Billion this year, a massive amount by Canadian standards, but not much if you live in the U.S. The CBC news site tells me that for 2010 the Canadian debt-to-GDP ratio is 77%. In the U.S., it’s 98%. CBC quotes the IMF as their data source. These numbers seem large to me.
More troublesome is the absolute debt projection moving forward. Canadian Finance Minister Jim Flaherty tells us that the annual deficit will diminish as tax revenues pick up, and government spending, especially bailout programs, are squeezed.“Hmm” I mutter.
I casually lock my hands behind my head and stretch my feet. The stream of travelers in the hallway beyond the lounge has slowed for the moment, and there is an eerie quiet in the lounge. Many of the first class passengers have left.
My thoughts return to the budget. What if tax revenues don’t pick up? What if future governments find it impossible to “squeeze” program spending? What if the deficit does not diminish, or worse, balloons higher?
Another thought enters my mind. Currently, the government pays next to nothing in interest on borrowed money. What if inflation forces interest rates up?
I wonder what will happen if Canada finds itself in the same position as the U.S. with respect to rising governmental debts, high unemployment and declining tax revenues.
Just this morning, Rick Ackerman, an analyst I like to read, detailed the budgetary woes of San Francisco. His report can be found here: Rick Ackerman March 4, 2010
Rick reported that San Francisco will lay off 15,000 of its 26,000 workers by week’s end. More cuts will follow, and other major cities, and many U.S. states, are in similar trouble.
“Mr. Aprov” the hostess interrupts “I just noticed your flight’s been delayed by thirty minutes. Would you like more coffee? Perhaps you’d prefer a snack, or even a drink?”
The hostess ends her question with a genuine smile that I find appealing.
“Thank you! A glass of red wine appeals to me at the moment, but I don’t drink during the day and at fifty plus, I’m trying to lose a little weight.”
I end my words on a humorous note accompanied by a broad grin. I lightly pat my growing waist.
Placing her bangle laden hands on her waist, the red haired hostess answers me with her own smile, a youthful one, a hopeful one, a smile free of the baggage that age brings. As she moves about, a strand of red hair falls across her face, and she brushes it away discreetly.
“So, some more coffee then?” the hostess asks politely.
“Yes, please!”
This time, my eyes do not follow the posh young hostess as she disappears into the kitchen. Instead, I’m deeply worried about the long term financial health of North America. Someday, there may be no money to finance marbled hallways while waiting for flights to LAX. Nor may there be any money for beautifully coiffed hair and expensive glasses of wine at the airport. The unemployed know this already.
My Blackberry rings. It’s my wife calling. It appears that junior has been misbehaving at school again. Paying less attention than I should, I wonder what I’ll tell my banker friends when I meet them in Los Angeles.
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