A candidate down at the dump
It’s a warmer than usual fall Saturday. Exactly 11 days ‘til the municipal election. Eleven days. The way time is measured now. In days.
But not for long. Before long, hours. How many hours ‘til the polls close? Minutes. How many minutes ‘til the ballots are counted? How many seconds ‘til the winners are announced? How many? How many ‘til I know? Until I know how many people voted? For
On this warmer than usual October morning, I’m at the town dump.
Bethel’s Transfer Station, to be precise. It’s 10 o’clock and already a steady stream of residents are dumping all kinds of stuff — meticulously I might add — into various stations. Garbage, cardboard boxes, metal, plastic, recyclables, the like. They all seem to know the drill. They pull up, they dump, they pay, they leave or are about to when. . .
“Hi!” I say cheerfully. “May I hand you this?” “Sure,” they answer, having no choice but to roll down the window and accept one more piece of campaign lit. Litter, to be honest.
“May I ask if you have any concerns, anything you’d like to share with me?” I continue politely.
“Well, since you ask. . .” I hastily scribble down the following:
⏩ Kids are outta control!
⏩ Teachers are too liberal. They force their ideas on the kids.
⏩ What the hell are they teaching? Anyway?
One man mentions mental health issues — specifically depression — seemingly epidemic today. One woman, an elementary school teacher, opines academics start too early. “Not developmentally appropriate,” she instructs.
Some have no comment because their kids are gone. Two couples — one elderly, one with schoolage children — feel the “school rebuilds were rushed through.” Almost everyone complains taxes are too high. A handful say “I’m good.” Two old gents brag they don’t vote. They all wish me good luck as they leave.
One particularly eloquent guy sports a colorful bandana. The sole teen I spot is the spittin’ image of (a teenage) Arlo Guthrie. I see a few dogs, but no children. I see women wearing makeup.
At the dump. You must go to the dump, friends advise. Everyone goes there on Saturday — everyone!
And I laugh. LOL, as we say today. The dumpasmetaphor not lost on me. Because later I’m joined by other candidates — incumbents even — before the day winds down. Before things die down and the dump closes.
On this warmer than usual October day. . . a day that evokes, among other things, those lawyer jokes from a while back. Update:
Q. What do you call a bunch of politicians hangin’ at the local dump?
A. A nice start!