Two things have me fired up today:
One, I participated in a campaign survey by phone the other night in which the caller spoke in a very thick accent. So much so that I could barely understand her questions. On top of that, the static on the line was so pronounced I imagined a frayed wire stretching from my home in the Midwest all the way across the Pacific Ocean to the country to which this work was outsourced. Please tell me I’m wrong about this. Disturbing to say the least.
Two, while strolling the booths at our city’s final art festival of the season last weekend, a pre-teen boy with a clipboard approached me, asking in earnest: “Would you like to volunteer for Obama?”
I set down my iced tea and grabbed the clipboard to give the flier a cursory glance. Then I gave him the most honest answer I could: “I’d love to but I just can’t. Really. I wish I could.”
As our group moved on, I felt my face grow hot. What kind of lame-ass answer was that?
“You know, I’m just not a knock-on-doors kind of person,” I said to my friend and her college-aged son.
We all nodded in silent agreement and pressed on through the crowds. But it’s been bugging me ever since. I know how much this election year has been bothering me, gnawing at my conscience and worrying me.
So it is with an odd sort of kismet that I found this today. Read this post. If you are enlightened, pass it on.