The phone rang.
It was that number again: "Out of Area/No Data."
They'd been calling for a week. And I was sick of it. So I finally answered, ready to inform the telemarketer on the other line that I'm on the do not call registry and the secretary of state's going to hear about this, friend.
But the nice Southern lady on the other end of the line explained she was conducting some polling research and wanted just a few minutes of my time, are you a likely voter? Hey, what the heck, why not, I thought. This could be fun.
It wasn't painful. But it wasn't the Quinnipiac poll or the AP, either.
She said she was from a firm whose name I do not recall, but I'm pretty sure they're Republican pollsters. Though I figured that part out without the assistance of the Interweb, given the content of the questions. Not the South part; could have been Bangalore for all I know.
The topic was the governor's race here in the Nutmeg State. While my friendly Southern pollster didn't bash the Democrat, Daniel Malloy, she pumped up the GOP nominee, Tom Foley, in the phrasing of several questions -- i.e. "...or do you want someone like Tom Foley who's a political outsider who knows how to create jobs and will take on the special interests in Hartford?"
(On a side note, when I think of special interests in Hartford, I think of wealthy white guys and corporations seeking tax breaks rather than public employee unions. But that's the great thing about special interests -- it's not just a loaded phrase, it's more versatile than a KitchenAid. You never have to identify them, and as if by magic, whatever you're against, they're for!)
Now, Foley took some bruising in the GOP primary -- past criminal charges against him, allegations he outsourced jobs and ruined a Georgia textile mill town as a venture capitalist, rumors he once yelled at a puppy and doesn't like Jim Croce or Jimmy Buffett -- and my friendly Southern pollster asked me about all those things and whether I believed his opponents or I believed his explanations.
So what did I do with those batting-practice fastballs?
A): "He's a downsizing SOB and he's so slimy, slugs pour salt on him."
B): "Just because he got security clearance to be ambassador to Ireland doesn't mean he didn't allegedly use his car as a weapon."
C): "I'm aware of those accusations, but I'm going to investigate for myself and make up my own mind."
If you answered A or B, you know me well ... and you're WRONG! Yes, I answered C.
Now why would a decent, fair-minded, God-fearing progressive like me do a thing like that? The explanations were lame! Why would I take those pitches for strikes?
Well, for starters, it's true. I'll do the research and make up my own mind. Not that he's likely to get my vote, but if you believe claims made by political ads, I've got some nice swampland in Florida that may interest you.
Then, there's this: I once had to make cold calls, when I was working a temp job before my first paying gig in the Eastern Liberal Media Conspiracy. (In that case, working for a fan of Richard Nixon, "Liberal" didn't apply quite so much. Though Nixon did impose price controls! You could look it up.) That temp job was no rock and roll fun. And so I've been there and I figured this lady was A) reading from the script and B) probably making minimum wage with no sick time or health care benefits and C) didn't need my attitude.
So I just gave my answers. They were disappointing enough, I'm certain. And hey, there's always the inevitable Linda McMahon push poll.
But that leads me to the larger topic of any political operation using tricks widely esteemed to be dirty.
I've long had a strong hunch that a Democratic congressman, whom I won't name because I can't even begin to prove this, ran a fake Republican push poll late in a close race - and not just any push poll, but a really aggressive one targeting senior citizens! - so he could blame the GOP candidate for dirty tricks. He won.
Having finally been the recipient of a push poll, I think it's sort of like listening to cult recruiters, or what I have oft imagined cult recruiters would be like, albeit in this case without the pamphlets or wearing a Snuggie. (Think the cover of Fire Of Unknown Origin.) They stick to the script, building up their charming visionary sociopath and conveniently excusing any flaws or doubts. If you listen with both ears, it's plainly evident what's going on and you ignore it, or tell 'em to take a hike. But if you don't and you hear enough of it and you're on the fence -- or worse, hear what you want to hear -- you potentially fall in line with the program(ing).
I've always wondered what it would be like to run a campaign or to be a candidate. I wonder if I'd do something like that. It's easy to sit on the sidelines and say "oh no, of course not, that's dastardly and scummy."
But I know this about candidates for public office -- they get a bad case of tunnel vision. So when the pressure gets turned up and the party consultants tell you "this is how it's done in the big time, don't ask questions" and you want to win, after all, and the polls say you're behind and the other candidate just annoys the heck out of you -- well I suppose it becomes easier to do things of which you're not proud. It's probably even been done by politicians you like as well as the ones you dislike. (And it's one or the other these days. Who knew Eddie Vedder was a prophet when he caterwauled "There ain't gonna be any middle any more"?)
In sports, where I spend most of my time, there's cliches about preferring losing with class to winning with dishonor. When it's the team you don't like that's caught cheating, this is an easy position to take; sometimes, if they're really, really good then you can speculate out of thin air that they must be cheating (as many NASCAR fans claimed when Ray Evernham was Jeff Gordon's crew chief and no one could beat him).
But when it's your team -- Patriots fans, you might be familiar with this one -- that gets caught with its hand in the cookie jar, it's not as easy to stick with the high ground. "Everyone was doing it." Or "It's not a big deal, it didn't give them an unfair advantage," or "It's a witch hunt!"
As the song goes, "You just want to be on the side that's winning."
I'd like to think candidates -- any candidates, mind you, donkeys and elephants inclusive -- could run on their records, the issues and their vision for the future. And if they did any of those things, then tactics that set apart your record from the opponents are just slightly less onerous.
But when all anyone's got anymore is platitudes, empty suits and buzzwords, it just comes off as another come-on.
So yes, I would have preferred a telemarketer. At least it's clear from "hello" that they're trying to sell me something I don't want to buy.
Excerpts: "Porch" by Pearl Jam; "Positively 4th Street." by Bob Dylan.
