Sunday, April 23, 2006
Seven Seconds Too Busy. Picture a sunny, crisp, Saturday spring morning. Cars are pulling up to the post office -- the drivers getting out to become pedestrians for a few moments as they fulfill their postal errands. I stand with a clip board and mind you I am an incongruous clip board holder if there ever was one in that I don't have the crunchy-granola environmentalists look that would signal I want to invoke your guilt about the state of our water or air. Nor do I look like the sports mom hitting you up for new uniforms for the local lacrosse team. I also don't look like a politician of any sort.
On this day I have a decidedly well-dressed Euro-casual look going accentuated by my retro-50's black-rimmed glasses. My pitch takes not twenty seconds: "Are you a resident of Town X and if so would you like to take a moment to sign State Rep Y onto the ballot?" The old timers all get it. They know that this is a pro forma ritual that all candidates, incumbent or otherwise, must go through each election cycle: you need a minimum of 150 signatures in order to be placed on the ballot. The rest of the citizenry may not know this fact but a good portion are at least amenable to signing the petition. It fact, most do not even look at what they are signing, relying instead on my brief explanation (last year this is how a lot of signatures erroneously ended up on a petition to put the issue of gay marriage on the ballot [signers thought they were signing a petition to sell alcohol in Massachusetts' supermarkets]). A shocking number of those who walk by don't know that the Rep I mention is currently their State Rep (particularly that he has been in office for over a decade), "Rep who? I've never heard of him..." The worst though, are the women who pull up in their husband-subsidized cars, Starbucks cup in hand, and claim they are "just too busy." "It won't take you seven seconds!" I counter. "Sorry, I have groceries in the trunk..." 'Hmmmm', I think to myself. 'So our upkeep of democracy has succumbed to ice cream potentially going seven seconds soft...' Don't they know it's so much easier to eat a pint when it's a little melted?
On this day I have a decidedly well-dressed Euro-casual look going accentuated by my retro-50's black-rimmed glasses. My pitch takes not twenty seconds: "Are you a resident of Town X and if so would you like to take a moment to sign State Rep Y onto the ballot?" The old timers all get it. They know that this is a pro forma ritual that all candidates, incumbent or otherwise, must go through each election cycle: you need a minimum of 150 signatures in order to be placed on the ballot. The rest of the citizenry may not know this fact but a good portion are at least amenable to signing the petition. It fact, most do not even look at what they are signing, relying instead on my brief explanation (last year this is how a lot of signatures erroneously ended up on a petition to put the issue of gay marriage on the ballot [signers thought they were signing a petition to sell alcohol in Massachusetts' supermarkets]). A shocking number of those who walk by don't know that the Rep I mention is currently their State Rep (particularly that he has been in office for over a decade), "Rep who? I've never heard of him..." The worst though, are the women who pull up in their husband-subsidized cars, Starbucks cup in hand, and claim they are "just too busy." "It won't take you seven seconds!" I counter. "Sorry, I have groceries in the trunk..." 'Hmmmm', I think to myself. 'So our upkeep of democracy has succumbed to ice cream potentially going seven seconds soft...' Don't they know it's so much easier to eat a pint when it's a little melted?
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