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Door To Door Politico

Updated on October 8, 2008

It was last Saturday and I was lying on my couch. That's right, although the sun was shining and the weather was beautiful I was inside lying on my couch watching all the shows that I had Tivo'd from the previous week. A knock came at the door (an unusual thing to be sure) and as I pulled myself from the couch, with no real concern for the fact that I looked like hell, having been laying on one side, the hair with product from the day before all pushed up that gave me that Grandpa Munster look but good, I opened the door and there he was - the door to door politico - Don't Get Me Started!

He did a really good job of not looking shocked by my appearance (a true test of his acting abilities to be sure considering what I looked like) and immediately asked for my mate by name. He was reading from a list that was on a clipboard. All at once it made me feel a little as though he was the bouncer from a great club and once again I was not on the list. I explained that I was not my mate but that my name was Scott and he seemed a bit disinterested or perhaps I had just thrown him off his game. You know, not what he had expected or something. At any rate, I thought that he would look for me on the list. And even though I'm gay and we're not married I had hoped that at least on this list that we might have our names appear next to one another. Especially when you consider he was wearing an Obama t-shirt (no doubt he was a Democrat politico) and as we're both registered Democrats, live in the same place and he had Michael's name surely he would have mine there somewhere on the list. But once he found out I wasn't Michael he seemed to not really care who I was - almost as if I would receive the "generic" speech as opposed to the personalized one for Michael. The thought did race through my mind to say, "I'm the short Jew in the couple, Michael is the six foot black man - believe me, you'd know the difference." But between not being on the list and trying to resist the urge to scratch myself in the crotch I decided to just let it go and hear the guy out.

From the top of his almost natural red hair, the product that was in it, the way he wore his Obama shirt and the large silver ring on his thumb I knew instantly that he was as we say (or as my grandmother used to say) "a gay." He wasn't swishy but if being gay for almost forty-four years hasn't taught me how to spot another gay then I should be thrown off the team.

He immediately asked if I knew who Michael was voting for - this seemed like an odd question due to the fact that I really think that's a personal type question, isn't it? And for God sakes, why didn't he care about who I was voting for for Chrissakes??? If there's one thing I can't take, it's not being popular and at this point I was far from the popular choice when it came to my opinion. To say I got quickly annoyed was an understatement as I looked over my shoulder to make sure that America's Next Top Model was still paused on the television.

That's when I decided to do what I do best in life, take the reigns and show this guy the back seat. I said, "Let me make this easier for you. We're both voting for Obama. How's that?" He emotionally stumbled a bit and trying to recover started to pull out an early voting card with information on it out of his back pocket. Before he could finish his sentence of, "Here's some Early Votin..." I jumped in, "I have the brochure that came in the mail. Yes, we'll be doing the early voting." An awkward smile was exchanged, I think he thanked me and I closed the door and was able to complete the long awaited scratch of my balls. (No one said gay was pretty all the time).

About three hours later I had showered, shaved and prettied myself when I went to run some errands. As I went to get into my car I noticed an unmistakable redhead (not Ann-Margaret or Lucille Ball) crossing the street to his car. We looked at one another and nodded, you know that head bop you do when you really don't have anything to say but need to acknowledge the other person. I was surprised that he was still in the neighborhood. I guess there are more Democrats than I knew living around me. I wondered how many conversations he had with people and if they were easy or difficult and I thought it must not be very easy to be a door to door politico. I also wished that I had bothered to at least try to smooth my hair down or make it look better and I was suddenly okay with not being on the list. When the Mormons come to the door they have Jesus but this guy was only armed with a clipboard. Suddenly in my mind I began to sing the Oscar winning (can you believe it) song, It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp except I changed the word Pimp to Politico. Door to door politico - Don't Get Me Started!

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Can a door to door politico change who you decide to vote for in an election?

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