I
have blood relatives who belong to the Tea Party and blood relatives who belong
to the Church of Latter-Day Saints. Even though a few might not believe it, I
love them all.
After
work on Monday, I went to a local Obama campaign office to phone bank voters in
Ohio. I was in no mood to do more work after work, and had Should I go? Should I go? Should I go? on replay in the back of my
mind all day.
Reader,
I went. Could you imagine if I didn’t go and Romney ended up winning Ohio? My
conscience (which is all I have) would be in shambles.
Midway through the Welcome-to-the-Computerized-Phone-Calling-System
presentation, the guy sitting in front of me, who had already been acting up
for awhile, answered his ringing phone and loudly caught up with his caller. He
looked pissed and surprised when another trainee looked, pissed and surprised,
his way. The rattled trainer sighed and continued presenting. When the guy got off
the phone, he barely paid attention to the rest of the demo because why would
he want to do that in lieu of making menacing faces at the woman who’d made a
face at him?
The Republicans wouldn’t let an unmistakable liability like this lay a hand on a phone connected to their
campaign’s computerized system (to call
registered voters in a crucial battleground state on the eve of a neck-and-neck
presidential election?) and wouldn’t care whose feelings got hurt. Here, no
one kindly but firmly sent this guy off, assuring him that the polls would open
at 6 a.m. and the machinery looks forward to tabulating his vote.
Training concluded, the computerized
system temporarily shut down, and we were told to sit tight. The only snacks I
saw were a box of Dunkin’ Donuts munchkins, a bag of stale bagels, and an open
container of a spread that may or may not have been hummus. At least one
phone-banker, and you know who I’m talking about, may or may not have swept at
least one finger through it.
The joint was packed. After an hourlong
wait, when it was clear they wouldn’t be ready for me to start making calls
anytime soon, if at all, I’d had enough. My time is dear to me – it’s all I
have. (Or was that the conscience? I have 2 things – my conscience and my
time.) I excused myself (pretending to take an urgent personal call, although
the phone I held hadn’t rang, beeped, or vibrated), disappeared through the first
set of open elevator doors, and made it home in time for the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills season
premiere. But the most beautiful thing I've seen on TV all week came last night at 1 a.m. and took
the form of four words: Mitt Romney Concession
Speech.
Mitt could use a
munchkin. Who couldn’t?