If there is any one thing I will remember throughout the next year of election madness, it will be this: to remain calm and collected as I hook up my passion to my brain.
I will not waste my ammunition. I will only fire when I see the whites of their rhetorical eyes. I will make every shot count.
See, I just got a call from some Schwartzenegger volunteer, and she sounded so perky, so enthusiastic. She said, “I’m calling from Governor Schwartzenegger,” and sounded so thrilled to remind me to go and vote.
Well. I snapped. I let fly.
I said that he wasn’t governor yet. I said I already voted. I asked how she could support someone who was in bed with Enron and Ken Lay. I told her I’d voted against the recall and against her candidate. She thanked me and hung up.
I’m still stewing, partly from the rush of confrontation, but mostly at my own impatience. That was a worthless tirade on my part. I got angry and spouted off. I’m still shaking from the adrenaline.
The smart thing to do would have been to engage this woman, to ask her questions. I should have said I was still undecided and let her give me the reasons why I should have voted for her guy. I should have reeled her in with stupid questions like, “What about what the LA Times said about his groping?” and “What about his ties with Pete Wilson?” and “What about his secret meeting with Ken Lay?” And then I should have crushed her like the moron she was. I should have called her to task for supporting someone as unqualified and bad for California as Schwartzenegger. I should have gotten her in a tizzy until she hung up on me.
This would have had two effects. One, instant bad karmic vibes throughout her call bank. And, second, it would have delayed her from calling up one more voter.
The day isn’t done. I might get a call from Tom McClintock or from some other Republican group. If those calls come through, I will remain calm, stick to my guns, and make every shot count.