Crazytown

…and it was every bit as satisfying as I thought it would be.
By Bob Simpson (Writer)

We’re taking a break from cataloguing those terrible and/or unknown Presidents of the past to reflect on an event far more life-changing for me.

I got polled.

That’s right, the guy who’s been studying the political climate and Jekyll and Hyde-esque polling results since the Carter administration (despite not being alive then) actually got a chance to make some noise.

It all happened late Sunday night on October 14^th, as my wife and I were preparing to watch the season premiere of The Walking Dead (this season’s theme: everyone hates Lori).

"I can't believe you killed the man that tried to rape me. How could you?!"

I heard my phone vibrating upstairs, as I had to plug it in due to the battery life of my iPhone being comparable to the overall life of a piece of bacon on my plate. I charged upstairs, wondering who in the hell would dare call me and interrupt the long-awaited debut of Michonne…MICHONNE people!

As I answered the phone, exasperated and a little tired because I took the stairs about four at a time, a woman on the other end notified me that I had been selected to participate in a poll for Public Policy Polling. After a few dry heaves due to a combination of exhaustion and…I don’t know how to describe the other feeling…like when that girl you had a crush on in fourth grade returned the note you sent her asking her if she liked you with the “yes” circled. Sure, you can see that she wrote “maybe” in pencil and then erased it, but apparently you’re appealing enough that she changed her mind!

After regaining my cool, I accepted her offer to participate in the poll, ran back downstairs while she explained the topics, and waved violently at my wife. Concerned, she looked up from her Entertainment Weekly as I mouthed the words “I’m getting polled” at her. She mouthed the words “what” back at me, probably unable to read my lips as we generally communicate with spoken language.

I was distracted from said communication with my wife when the pollster on the other end explained that the call would take about 20 minutes.

“Twenty minutes?” I asked. “That long?”

“Yes, sir,” the pollster said. “We have a lot to cover.”

“That seems like a long time. Can I just tell you I’m a liberal elitist and you fill it in for me?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that. However, at the completion of the poll we will send you $10,” she explained.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” I said, that warm, fuzzy sensation returning to my belly. “You’re telling me that you’re actually going to PAY me to tell you what I think?”

“Yes sir.”

“This is the greatest day of my life,” I whispered. “Proceed.”

And off we went. She asked me every question that I’d poured over obsessively during the last few years: who I’d vote for, my enthusiasm level in the candidate, whether I was better off now than four years ago, Peeta or Gale (which was weird), not to mention the stacks upon stacks of propositions that Californians would vote on during the election (there are, I think, 112 of them).

As the phone call concluded, the pollster asked me for some demographic information. Now, this was the part I was really anticipating. Keep in mind, I’ve read the polling data over the last several months more than my own e-mail, and I’ve seen that guys that fit into my demographic tend to vote for Mittens. So, when she asked me my race, I responded proudly, “I’m white!” Incidentally, this is the first time I’ve been proud to say this. When she asked me my age, I said, “Between 30 and 35!” I actually gave her my real age, but that’s none of your damn business. When she asked me what my income was, I said, “Middle!” Again, I told her what it actually was, but stop getting so personal with me, okay?

She asked me if I had a religious affiliation, which blunted my enthusiasm a little bit, as Catholics voting Democratic has become pretty cliché. Regardless, I told her I was Catholic because, I don’t know, I haven’t said that in a while.

The woman told me to have a nice day, and that my $10 would be mailed as soon as possible. I told her to hurry up, because I was running out of bagel bites, laughed, endured an awkward silence, and then hung up the phone.

Not to toot my own horn, but I finished the poll in about fifteen minutes. I know it’s not a race, but hey, small victories, you know? Probably took an undecided voter an hour to finish the poll, since they were probably asking questions like, “Isn’t Canada a state?”

Did you see my little joke there? See what I’m getting at? Undecided voters are stupid.

Anyway, now that I’ve taken an active role in the upcoming election, I feel satisfied and relieved. So relieved, in fact, that I won’t be voting on November 6^th.

I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I’m from Chicago! I’ll be voting twice!

BOB SIMPSON is a writer and lives in Los Angeles, where he works for an entertainment company that he'd prefer to keep anonymous, should he accidentally diss something they made. www.bobsimpsonblog.blogspot.com
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