Crap, I’ve got to get me some new readers, STAT. Existing readers, I may need you to take the rest of the week off from work to do a little stumping. I know you hate your boss and, anyway, I’m sure you have some holiday shopping to do. If you could pick up a few extra computers to give away while you’re at it, that would be great. New recruits need not speak English.
The last time I was at the mercy of the popular vote was in high school. I was running for Treasurer against an impossibly athletic, much taller girl who didn’t wear glasses. I don’t know what possessed me other than I had just had my headgear removed and was feeling on top of the world. My campaign slogan — One Stingy Mother… (with a graphic of a tightly clenched fistful of cash) — still applies today. My posters were small. I made no speech. I didn’t choreograph an elaborate dance to Jamiroquai. And, yet, there were nods of approval among all the other high school losers as I walked down the hall. The tension was palpable.
I lost, of course (this ain’t the movies). My science teacher, who ran the school elections and who was not unfamiliar with their dynamics, pulled me aside after class to tell me that he had never seen anything like it. I had lost by two votes. I never knew if he was just being nice. Actually, now that I look back on it as a (mature?) adult, I’m pretty sure he was lying. But, what a way to lose! My head was held high all the way to the orthodontist to have my braces tightened for another year. (Thanks, Mr. Wendall. I owe you one.)
Anyway, I know the moral of this story is hard to find, buried as it is under layer upon layer of nuance, so let me spell it out for you. For God’s sakes, people, make it close.