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September 28, 2004

The Dirty Work

Face it. The phone calls are a drag. Itís telemarketing, plain and simple; itís a politician youíre selling, not magazines or timeshares. And it sucks. Itís wearing and dull. And people are angry. Theyíve been called 97 times by 97 different campaigns. They donít want to talk about their politics to a stranger on the phone. And hell, why should they? As they reminded me repeatedly, itís their right not to tell anyone how theyíre voting. They are right. I canít argue with them. Also, it turns out, duh, thereís a ton of policy I know f*ck all about.

The hardcore Republicans? Very nice to me. Really nice. Polite. The undecided voters? Totally inscrutable. Iíd ask them what issues were important to them in the election and they didnít know. Are they kidding with that? A bunch of people hung up on me. And I talked to one funny old coot who said this in a slow southern twang:

ďI don't like that Bush. We shouldnít have gone in there.I fought in WWII. I was 19 years old when I enlisted and I don't like how we went into Iraq. Theyíve been fighting there since time began. And our Lord was there, Jesus was there and they were fighting then and theyíre still fighting.Ē How do you respond to that?

The staffers do the dirty work too, it's not just the volunteers. the staffer next to me cranked through her list of phone calls while I did mine. What a day. Iím whacked. I must have made a hundred phone calls.

I turned on the radio when I got in to the car. American Pie had just started and I sang along. When I got off the freeway, the huge orange moon was hanging low in the sky. I guess that's the payoff. The orange moon and "this'll be the day that I die."

Posted by pam at September 28, 2004 08:32 PM | TrackBack
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