do or die

if you think your vote doesn’t matter
Then you’re not paying attention.
— the prophet ani


Mo is in a panic. We’ve lived here several years and nobody has EVER come to the door, making this the equivalent of the spaceship landing on the top of Devils Tower. Apologies if you never saw “Close Encounters” and I just ruined it for you. Also, Dreyfuss survives the shark attack in “Jaws.” So there.

Mo fears the worst, that they might be Jehovah’s Witnesses. Although they are very nice people, Mo is a bit averse to the JW peeps after she received a relentless onslaught of handwritten letters to her in South Texas. So she sends me to the door. I warily open it.

Outside, at a respectful 10 feet or so away, are two young women. Maybe early 20s, although it’s hard to tell through their 10 pounds of COVID safety gear. It’s a scene out of “Contagion” (spoiler alert: they find a vaccine in the movie and the world is saved. If only life were that simple. Again, sorry if you haven’t seen the movie. What the hell is wrong with you?)

They ask me if I am me, and I assure them I most likely am, although I have not checked my license lately. Mo laughs at my booking shot when I pull it out.

As it turns out, they’re out campaigning for a particular party I can’t name in a blog post because of my air of neutrality in all things political. They say their records show I haven’t voted yet and want to know what the hell is wrong with me.

I go through the mental checklist of things that are wrong with me and eventually decide they don’t have time for the whole enchilada (spoiler alert: enchiladas are really good. Maybe order out next time you’re watching “Close Encounters.”) So I assure them that I had a mail-in ballot which I deposited at City Hall a couple of days previous, with Mo watching my back in the event of attacks from the opposing party and mostly to make sure I didn’t lose it along the way.

And then, The Question. Can we ask whom you voted for?

I explain that I can’t tell them, because I’m a journalist and despite being Fake News and on a supposed vendetta against apple pie, we are not allowed to share such things publicly. But I point out that when they came to the door they identified me as a member of a political party. I assure them that I chose that particular party when I was 8 years old and have never looked back. Given the current political climate of the country, I suggest they can draw their own conclusions as to my vote.

They’re so excited. It’s a dark night, a lonely effort to get out Every Single Vote in a perilous time when I’m guessing most people aren’t excited about strangers at the door, no matter the extent of their hazmat suits. they say thanks and we say good night. I don’t inquire as to whether they’re Jehovah’s Witnesses. Leave well enough alone.

In a campaign cycle of such hatred and vitriol, two True Believers set out to make the world a better place. Maybe there’s hope for us yet.

Mo, unencumbered by a vow of secrecy, follows them out to dance with them on the sidewalk, thank them for such a thankless but appreciated duty, and snap a photo to remember them by.

Me? When Nov. 4, or 8, or New Year’s Eve comes around, these two young people who are so excited about believing in in a worthy cause will be the first people I think of when we find out how this movie ends.

Spoiler alert: We win. Enchiladas for everyone.

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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