Senior Calls
In a city of 100,000 people, you can call 300 each night. You’ll talk to a dozen. Maybe one will commit to voting for your guy. The people of this city will grow to hate your voice, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.
The thing about “Senior Calls” is that people can say whatever they want. They can screw with you in the cruelest ways, and you can’t say a thing. They can tell you that “No, Roger isn’t home, because he’s dead.” Roger probably is dead, but maybe not. Maybe you hear him talking in the background, telling her not to give him the phone. But you can’t say anything, except, “I’m so sorry. Do you know who you’re supporting in the primary?” When she hangs up, just check the “Deceased” box and keep calling. Rumor is, you have a quota to fill if you want to keep the internship.
Jonathan Asen, who was in one of my classes last semester, wrote this lovely, sardonic piece as a part of a series on his experiences as an intern during the run-up to the Democratic primaries.
