You know that T-Mobile commercial? The one that shows the executives attempting to make contact with their customers only to have their customers turn on them by spraying them with the gardening hose or hiding in the dark corners of their own homes? It's been like that around here but with politicians instead of...well, anyone else, really.
Things have been so crazy here in Florida with this campaign to fill the Senate seat (and oodles of thanks goes out to Mel Martinez for leaving his position in the middle of what could have been considered a campaign-free and enjoyably quiet summer after the mayhem of Obamafying everything last year). Our craziness includes political mailbox stuffers, door hangers, newspaper inserts, and our family's unfortunate verbal attacks on the poor souls who decide to call our house during the last 10 minutes of Top Chef or Hell's Kitchen, which means to say our phone rings incessantly between 8:30-9:00 at night.
My father has decided to answer the phone and make funny noises, like the loolooloolooloolooloolooloo salute that Spongebob Squarepants sometimes gives. Brian, my oldest brother, was visiting from South Carolina when he answered our phone and told the caller that the person he wished to speak with "is no longer with us." My mother and I have decided to just be rude. It's part of my character, anyway, so it's not like having fun with the telephone campaigners takes too much out of my creativity pool. After two late night phone calls last night, I decided I'd had it. The next campaigner was going to pay for all the grief my family has put up with over the last few weeks.
My morning started off with a request for my yummy chocolate & powdered sugar french toast and after eating breakfast, I immediately jumped in the shower. I might have been out of the shower for 10 minutes when the knock on the door prompted my dachsund to bark himself senseless and ignore threats of "pulling your tongue out through your ass if you don't shut up!". It's a favorite of my father's. Anyway, I quieted the dog (very nicely, I promise) and opened the door. On the other side was a man and a woman holding campaign cards and eyeing the "No Solicitors" sign located just above the doorknocker.
Strange man at my door: "Hi! My name is (blah blah blah, I wasn't listening) and I'm running for (blah blah blah, I'm still not listening). I'd like to encourage you to go to the polls and vote for me."
Me: "Yeah, thanks. It's kind of early."
Then I looked at the flyer. That was Art Graham at my front door. Ah...dammit. I just slammed my front door in the face of a could-be Senator. One of the front-runners, for that matter. And my father admitted to me that he is voting for him. This made me want to run down the street and apologize to the guy. Or at least bring him back to my house so my dad could meet him and explain to him that I'm not grouchy 24/7 and if he'd brought some Starbucks for me, I'd listen to anything he had to say. But I didn't.
Instead, I took it out on the next campaigner who came knocking on my door not even a half-hour later!
Strange woman at my door: "Hi! I hope I'm not considered a solicitor (giggle!)."
Me: "Yeah, you are (giggle!)."