Shatner Rules

put a little money in your accounts? The value of the tickets, maybe?”
    If my daughter’s eyes had made a sound when they rolled, I would have been knocked over by the sonic shockwave. Leslie was used to this—all my daughters are used to this. Dinner with Dad rarely went without a debate or negotiation of some sort.
    Negotiation aids the digestion! It warms you up for the eventual argument with the waiter over the check.
    My grandsons pondered this monetary offer between them for a second.
    “Nah,” said Eric. “We’ll take the tickets.”
    Grant agreed, in between mouthfuls. These grandkids of mine were tough negotiators. I was proud. They retained a unified front, wouldn’t negotiate without the other, stayed strong, showed that it wasn’t about money, it was about principle. And about watching grown men punch each other in the head on ice skates.
    They got the tickets.
    The grandkids won. It would be me, Elizabeth, and the two boys rinkside. It was then that I realized that good negotiating skills might not only be in the genetics of my blood relatives, because Joel played the ultimate trump card in any back and forth negotiation.
    His eyes filled with tears.
    Bravo, I thought to myself, while taking a big swig of sparkling water. Well played, young Joel! Crying always works!

    FUN FACTNER: William Shatner’s son-in-law Joel Gretsch is a busy actor on both the small and big screens. And like all good actors, he can cry on cue.
    I was very impressed, and waited to see which one of his nephews, seeing his uncle tear up, would be the first to fold and hand over a ticket. My other son-in-law, Andrew, is a special-effects artist. If he could have, he would have run away from the restaurant to fashion some sort of crying apparatus from latex and wire, but Joel beat him to the moist, sobby punch.
    But neither boy noticed. Elizabeth did.
    “Joel,” she said with great empathy, “you can have my ticket.”
    Lovely Elizabeth. She stood by her man by agreeing not to sit with him.
    There was much celebration as Joel danced on the table, and much relief for me. My wonderful Elizabeth had taken the heat off me. I was a great grandpa and a great father-in-law. And I was proud of my brood of negotiators.
    (NOTE: Later I found out that the tickets were going for $40,000 a pop on the street. Those little grandkids of mine were kicking themselves. They lost eighty grand!
The Negotiator had triumphed!
)
    Until the next day, when I got a call on the phone from one of the Olympic organizers.
    “Sorry, Mr. Shatner,” he quavered, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but your four tickets are gone.”
    “What?!?”
I yelled. “You
have
to be joking.”
    “I wish I were, sir,” he apologized. “We think someone stole them. Did you know they were going for forty grand a pop? That’s $41,939 American.”
    They had lost my tickets. My $160,000 ($167,756 American) worth of hockey enjoyment. And family togetherness, and family harmony.
    There is one negotiation tool that should be used sparingly, only in case of an emergency. This was an emergency. I had to take a metaphorical hammer, smash some symbolic glass, and pull a real diva fit. Or, since I’m male, a divo fit.

    FUN FACTNER: In Canada, even diva fits are punctuated with “pleases,” “thank yous,” and “whatever is okays.”
    “You promised me, I’m here, I’m your star, you’re shafting me.
I won’t go on!!!
”
    I hung up the phone, the foul stench of my bluff hanging in the air. There was no way in heck I would bail on my native land over a few hockey tickets. But in a tough negotiation, you must be willing to at least
sound
tough.
    The Olympic official called back a few hours later. “Mr. Shatner, I got three tickets.”
    Was this good enough? Maybe. Joel and the grandsons could go. I’d be the best father-in-law, and best grandfather. I could win a gold medal in patriarchal love!
    I was about to say yes when the Evil Negotiator appeared. I could feel my sinister Vandyke beard growing on my face. Three tickets were not enough. The original four were not enough. I had to bring the hammer down!
    “I need six tickets!”
I yelled, “I’ll take the three, but . . .
I need six tickets.
You
must
make this happen.”
    I almost said “please,” but then remembered my evil facial hair. Two hundred forty thousand dollars’ worth of tickets. To watch a hockey game.
    Would the full-on eruption of Mount Shatner be enough to close this