On Sunday evening, 14 October 2007, like many of my colleagues in the Acadia University Faculty Association (AUFA), I sat at my computer desk monitoring my email and the AUFA website for news of an impending strike. As a picket captain volunteer, I had already contacted my picket team, telling them that they were to proceed as if the strike had been confirmed: we were all to meet at AUFA Headquarters in Wolfville at 8:15 am to join the first shift of the strike. But like most of my colleagues, whom I saw lurking with me on the website, I still wanted confirmation. And I was holding out some hope–just a pinch–that the labour dispute between Acadia Univerisity and its Faculty had been miraculously resolved.
        I did have some reason to hope. After reaching an impasse on Friday, AUFA’s negotiating team had invited the Board of Governors’ negotiating team to join them on Sunday morning at the Old Orchard Inn if they had anything new to bring to the table. From what I understand, that breakfast meeting went on for 12 hours. Not bad after an impasse. Could they actually resolve the significant outstanding issues in a day?
        Okay, it was a silly question and a silly hope. But as Alexander Pope says, “Hope springs eternal in the human heart.” Pope basically means that we’re prone to be idiots where hope is concerned. We’ll hold onto hope in spite of all reasonable signs that we should just let it go and get on with whatever grim task we’re trying to avoid. It’s true that I had promised myself a bottle of single malt Scotch if we avoided a strike, so my taste buds (and liver), in a state of heightened anticipation, might have been contributing to my flights of fancy at the time. But that’s no real excuse for the idiocy of hope in this case. I’ve been teaching at Acadia University for 11 years now, and I should just plain know better.
        But there I sat anyway. Hoping.
        As I already mentioned, I was not alone in my delusion. In fact, I was on Skype IM chatting with my friend Richard Cunningham, and humming a very appropriate Tom Petty and the Heartbreaker’s song while typing away.
        Finally, I could wait no longer. I decided to make a phone call to HQ, where Mike Dennis, the leader of the Picket Committee confirmed it. The strike was on.
        I quickly contacted my picket team, the rest of the picket captains who were also waiting for word, and a few friends whom I’d promised to call. Then I poured myself a glass of Merlot and tried to unwind myself to bed. But the waiting wasn’t over. I spent the evening picketing in my sleep in anticipation of the morning.