Canada Apologizes for Running Out of Apologies

OTTAWA — It finally happened. After centuries of quietly bumping shoulders, nervously laughing in grocery store aisles, and murmuring “sorry” to moose on lonely highways, Canada has officially run out of apologies.

The announcement came at a somber press conference in Ottawa, where the Prime Minister, flanked by exhausted linguists and a Tim Hortons manager on loan as cultural advisor, admitted the country’s apology reserves had been depleted. “We regret to inform the world that Canada has said ‘sorry’ so often that we are now bankrupt,” he sighed. “And for that, we… well… we would apologize, but unfortunately, we can’t afford to.”

The crowd gasped. A journalist from CBC began to cry into her plaid scarf. A Mountie tipped his hat and muttered, “about time,” before galloping into the sunset.

The apology shortage has been described as the most significant crisis in Canadian history, eclipsing even the 2014 maple syrup heist and the brief but traumatic shortage of ketchup-flavored potato chips. For decades, apologies were Canada’s greatest export, more reliable than lumber, hockey players, or polite indie rock bands. But demand has outstripped supply. Economists say the nation’s debt-to-apology ratio reached unsustainable levels earlier this year, triggering what analysts are calling “the polite collapse.”

Across the country, daily life has ground to a halt. Without apologies, elevator etiquette has devolved into chaos. Grocery store collisions end in awkward silence, broken only by the nervous squeak of shopping carts. Pedestrians now stare at their boots instead of mumbling apologies when bumping shoulders. “It feels unnatural,” said Toronto resident Michelle Tremblay, after she accidentally hip-checked a stranger outside a Loblaws and failed to apologize. “Like I committed a crime. And yet… there are no words left.”

The crisis has been building for decades. Canadians apologize for everything: stepping on someone’s foot, opening a door too slowly, being born, existing, casting a shadow, owning a noisy kettle, or merely taking up space in the universe. Scholars note that this cultural reflex traces back to colonial times, when fur traders first apologized to beavers for trapping them, and the beavers, stunned by the politeness, shrugged and allowed it. By the 20th century, “sorry” had become Canada’s unofficial national anthem, sung softly in checkout lines and muttered under breath during hockey brawls.

But overuse has consequences. According to Statistics Canada, the average Canadian issues 458 apologies per day, with spikes during winter storm seasons and Toronto rush hour. By 2025, the national apology stockpile hit zero. Parliament, scrambling to maintain order, passed the Emergency Politeness Act, which requires citizens to apply for government-issued apology permits. Each Canadian is allotted three official apologies per month, renewable only with proof of dire necessity, such as spilling double-doubles on a stranger or accidentally sitting on a goose.

Permits have proven wildly unpopular. Long lines form outside government offices where citizens wait for hours to request a stamped apology card. Some break down weeping when told their quota has already been used. “I called my landlord to say sorry about late rent, and then I used my last one when I apologized to my cat,” sobbed Vancouver resident Tyler Brooks. “Now if I bump into someone on the SkyTrain, I’m screwed. They’ll think I’m American.”

The black market has responded with ruthless efficiency. In Tim Hortons parking lots across the country, shady figures in Leafs jerseys whisper, “Hey buddy, need a sorry?” before sliding handwritten apologies across car hoods. Prices have skyrocketed. One whispered “sorry, eh?” now fetches twenty dollars, or two boxes of Timbits if the dealer is generous. Organized crime syndicates, known as the “Eh Team,” have begun smuggling contraband apologies over the border from Minnesota, though experts warn these imports lack the authentic tone of true Canadian remorse.

Tim Hortons, once merely a donut franchise, has become ground zero for the crisis. Locations nationwide are plastered with signs reading, “We apologize for the lack of apologies,” which has only confused patrons further. In a desperate marketing ploy, the chain has begun offering apology-flavored donuts—maple glaze with a drizzle of regret—which critics describe as “dry but appropriately humble.”

Internationally, the fallout has been immediate. The United Nations has expressed concern that Canada’s inability to apologize may destabilize global diplomacy. “Canada was the world’s moral safety valve,” explained one diplomat. “When another nation blundered, Canada was always there to say ‘sorry’ on behalf of humanity. Now that reservoir is dry, we fear the planet will descend into unchecked arrogance.”

Already, world leaders are reporting complications. At the G7 summit, when Germany accidentally spilled mineral water on Italy’s Prime Minister, silence followed. Normally, Canada would have stepped in with a cheerful “sorry about that,” restoring balance. Instead, awkward glares stretched into minutes. The tension escalated until Italy hurled breadsticks across the table.

Domestically, the government is scrambling for solutions. One proposed plan involves outsourcing apologies from New Zealand, where citizens are known for apologizing to sheep. Another idea is to introduce synthetic apologies, mass-produced in labs and distributed via smartphone app. Early trials, however, suggest the tone is uncanny, leaving recipients feeling vaguely insulted rather than comforted.

Desperate times have inspired desperate measures. In Saskatchewan, church groups are holding apology vigils, where congregants gather to bow their heads and whisper “sorry” into empty jars, hoping the echoes can be stored for future generations. In Alberta, a group of farmers attempted to breed more apologies by cross-pollinating politeness with wheat, producing a new strain of “apology bread” that tastes faintly of guilt. Meanwhile, British Columbia has turned to meditation, with residents chanting “I am sorry” in yoga studios, only to be fined by federal agents for unauthorized use of remorse.

The cultural toll is immense. Canadian comedians have found themselves paralyzed. “Half my jokes end with ‘sorry,’” lamented stand-up comic Raj Patel. “Without it, I’m just yelling about snow.” Hockey fights have become disturbingly violent, as players no longer stop mid-brawl to apologize for punching each other. “It’s brutal,” said one NHL coach. “Our whole strategy relied on post-punch apologies.”

And yet, amidst the gloom, some Canadians see opportunity. “Maybe it’s good,” said Montreal philosopher Geneviève Moreau. “Maybe we’ve leaned on apologies too much. Without them, perhaps we will finally learn to be unapologetically ourselves.” She was immediately fined by police for unauthorized use of the word “sorry” in a hypothetical context.

Critics accuse the government of hoarding secret reserves. Leaked documents suggest there may still be a vault of high-grade apologies locked beneath Parliament Hill, guarded by bilingual beavers in ceremonial hats. Officials deny the allegations, but the rumors persist, fueling conspiracy theories that only the Prime Minister’s inner circle may access Canada’s last true “sorry.”

Meanwhile, the black market thrives. In Toronto, one man was arrested for impersonating a priest and offering “forgiveness bundles” that included three apologies and a coupon for a free donut. In Winnipeg, undercover agents busted a ring of teens selling bootlegged “sorry” stickers, printed with cartoon moose bowing their heads. And in Halifax, authorities seized a shipping container filled with counterfeit apologies imported from Britain, each accompanied by the phrase “terribly sorry, old chap,” which customs agents described as “not even close.”

The crisis has left Canadians grappling with identity itself. For generations, “sorry” was more than a word—it was a reflex, a social lubricant, a national anthem sung in whispers. Without it, citizens stumble in silence, clutching coffee cups, staring longingly at the frozen north. One woman in Ottawa summed it up best. “We don’t know who we are without our sorries,” she said, clutching her expired apology permit. “All we have left is kindness, politeness, and… what’s the word… oh god, what’s the word?” She trailed off, unable to continue.

In the end, Canada may simply adapt. Already, new phrases are emerging. Some citizens have started saying “my bad” in hushed tones, though linguists warn this is dangerously close to American speech patterns. Others try nodding solemnly instead of apologizing, which has led to several misunderstandings and at least one impromptu marriage proposal. Perhaps, in time, a new lexicon of politeness will evolve. Or perhaps the country will simply wait for the apology reserves to regenerate, the way forests regrow after wildfires.

Until then, Canadians face the future apology-less, bracing for a world in which bumping into a stranger is met with silence, spilling coffee on a friend remains unresolved, and the nation’s most powerful word is gone. Ottawa has promised further updates, though officials warn they may take time. After all, the last thing they want is to rush, make mistakes, and then be forced to apologize.

For now, Canada’s official stance is grim, yet resolute. “We can no longer apologize,” the Prime Minister declared, his voice cracking with remorse. “But we ask the world to understand. If nothing else, please know… we are so—” He paused, caught himself, and walked offstage in silence.