It was almost time.
I brushed two rapid streaks of peachy blush onto my cheeks and gave myself a once-over in the rearview mirror. Twenty minutes before, I had flown out of the gym and into my car, trying desperately to make it to this meeting by 8. Now I felt strangely nervous, like a kid who’s just gotten a haircut on the first day of school. Would I fit in with everyone else? Or was I about to stick out worse than a headful of dreadlocks at boot camp?
Grabbing my laptop, I jumped out of my car and skipped down the street.
I was attending a local canvassing meeting. While eagerly checking out my candidate’s website the night before, I had punched in my local zip code to see the events in my area. After scanning the options, I found just what I wanted—a low-key meeting where different ways to get involved with the campaign would be discussed. Perfect. I could go and feel things out without committing myself. After all, as a first-time voter, the last thing I want is to be chewed up and spit out by the system like a stick of Juicy Fruit that’s lost its flavor. Ugh. Who wants that?
It was time. I was ready. I breezed into the front door of the inn where the meeting was being held.
“I’m here for the canvassing meeting?” I said to the concierge, trying to sound confident even as my voice slid up an octave, turning my statement into more of a question.
He nodded. “Down the stairs, turn left, first door on the right.”
I followed his instructions. The door was open, but the speaker had already begun. I checked my phone. It was 8:05—I was only five minutes late. Hopefully that was okay.
Ducking my head slightly, I nodded as I walked past a row of eight or nine men dressed in nice business suits. I should have worn a skirt, I thought to myself, as I slipped quietly into a front-row seat in my sweaty gym clothes. And why are they all guys? I glanced around and found one other woman, dressed in a silk business suit and heels. I felt uncomfortable. Also, no one looked under forty-five. Geez—this political party’s older than I thought, I mused, and then chastised myself for being ageist.
An older gentleman to my right was holding a stapled handout. I figured I needed one, too, so I leaned forward to grab a copy from the table at the front of the room. The man running the meeting pushed the pile toward me hesitantly, giving me a very peculiar look.
This is weird, I thought. Is it just me, or is everyone looking at me strangely?
I settled back into my seat and scanned the paper. It didn’t say a thing about the Presidential Election. How odd. On the contrary: it seemed to be minutes for an agenda dealing with city contracts and tourism.
A sickening feeling started to sink into my stomach. I turned to the kindly old man next to me and emitted an urgent whisper.
“Um, is this meeting…”
He finished my question for me. “For canvassing?” He shook his head with a jolly grin, thoroughly enjoying this. “Nope.” Oh, no.
I’d walked into the Chamber of Commerce meeting by mistake.
Oh, yes.
There was one short moment that seemed much, much longer—it involved me silently replacing the handout on the table, gathering my things, and voicing a high-spirited apology as I walked back out of the room and made a beeline for the stairs. Behind me I heard the man in charge say, “That was one for the other meeting!” The room erupted into a chorus of chuckles.
I made my way back to the stairwell, and this time I took a right. I made it the correct meeting by 8:08 without further event.
Being a conscientious voter is harder than it looks.
I only hope that that concierge gets his Right and Left sorted out before Election Day. Nothing like being at the wrong party!
