...in Which Our Heroine Works a Political Event

A friend-of-a-family-friend kicked off her mayoral campaign this afternoon and my brothers were volunteered to volunteer at the press conference and celebratory lunch. To save them from hitchhiking across town, I offered to drive them over ('cause I'm just nice that way). My plan was to get the boys where they needed to be, maybe watch the press conference, and then retreat to my car with a good book. And I was really looking forward to that time with my book.

I didn't realize that merely approaching the building and smiling constituted a binding offer to help, but I quickly found myself presented with a campaign t-shirt ("Just put it on over your sweater. Let me stash your purse for you.") and a pile of stickers ("Make sure everyone is wearing a sticker, then tell them to move in to the back...."). Thus outfitted, I joined the ranks of the faithful. When the press conference started, someone took my stickers and handed me a sign, telling me to go "infiltrate" the crowd and wave the sign around where the cameras could see it. When my sign-waving duties were fulfilled, someone else took the sign and gave me a pile of cards to hand out. (I might add that there were at least 5 other people handing out the same cards, in the same room. Everyone I approached had already been given a card).

As the attendees filed out for lunch, a residue of red-clad campaign volunteers was left along the edges of the room. The rest of crew--all well-acquainted and friendly--gathered together in a clump and discussed how great everything was. Poor poor little me was left standing alone, unneeded and not knowing anyone. I was also painfully aware that my red shirt was clashing with my berry-colored sweater sleeves. And my hair was limp. And I had a headache. And my stomach hurt. And my legs hurt. And, and, and.... I gave up and retreated to my car and my book.

Now that I'm home, I feel pretty silly. I like volunteering for these sorts of shin-digs and I like the candidate for whom I was working. I'll probably work on her campaign again at some point. It should not have been that hard to stand around handing out cards or stickers or whatever else they had sitting there waiting to be distributed. But my introverted-side rose up and did NOT want to talk to another stranger or interrupt another conversation to proffer stickers. And Kipling was waiting for me in the car.