I walked past my neighbor’s house carrying a couple of bags of groceries. Had walked up to the store and back. I was on my way home.
Election coming, I had decided to do my share, so I’d stopped at the Post Office and picked up voter registration forms. This coming Tuesday is the last day to register in Oregon.
Sitting on Peggy’s front stoop was Old Barfy and a buddy, 40 ouncers of cheap beer in their hands. The dark-haired one, who always wears sunglasses, used to live in the building but hasn’t for a year or so. I think he got evicted. I don’t pay a lot of attention to the drama in my building.
Remembering the forms in my bag, I turned to the older men and shouted, “Hey, are you guys registered to vote?”
Old Barfy nodded, and the other guy said “Yeah,” so I kept walking.
But Sunglasses continued “…but we’re registered Republicans!” He said it in a challenging way.
I turned back, stopped. “Huh?” The answer confused me. Or maybe his attitude about it. Or the underlying assumption he’d made. I wanted him to repeat it.
There was an awkward pause.
“Are you askin’ from the left, or the right?” he said, again making assumptions that I didn’t really get.
I shouted back, laughing. “I don’t give a fuck! I just wanted to know if you were registered.” I turned away, my question answered, and wanting to make a larger point. “There’s an election coming up. Just wanted everyone to have their say.”
And besides, joke’s on them. The country is largely progressive.
Generally speaking, Democrats win when more voters participate. Heh, heh.