“Here’s a Guinness, the Republicans are upstairs having their party.”
I carried my beer upstairs and the room eventually filled with a hundred, sometimes portly, usually dressed to their nines, politicians and their mates – all perhaps congratulating themselves on their winning the coming election. I wore sneakers, jeans, and an orange hoodie but no one frowned at me and several complimented my newsletter. They knew my costume, that of a street-activist, a TEA Party fan.
Our new Chairman was there. I introduced myself, offered congratulations, and asked for an appointment to discuss voter fraud. He accepted the idea and named a go-to for me. The re-elected sheriff occupied a center table with her friends. She’s happier, fatter, and older than her pictures and never did list “accomplishments” on her web site. She won anyhow. A tall RINO stood with a small group near the far end of the bar and tried to convince them that he’s really Republican. I recalled his bringing urns of coffee to our demonstrations and asking to be put on a ballot. We investigated him. My favorite State Representative was at the party … he had announced his retirement and for the first time, he smiled without tight little wrinkles around his mouth and between his eyebrows. His former secretary introduced herself and followed me to the food line. Nice lady. Bright lady. Pretty lady. She’s running for something but will go back to working for him if she loses. I asked her to keep in touch. That’s what these parties are for.
Two elegant Spanish ladies wore lavender dresses and sat at the bar. They spoke only in Spanish and only with each other. The exclusion seemed to be mutual between them and the rest of us. How absolutely short-sighted for the GOP. Are the women with us because of political convictions or because the line is shorter for them between joining the party and getting a desk? In either case, we needed them on the phone banks three years ago when Mac and Sarah ran.
No black people were there, not even working the bar or bringing in the ice, salad, potato skins and chicken wings. Again, we appear to have done nothing for the last three years.
I eventually leaned against a wall, traded idle gossip with a stranger, nearly finished my Guinness, and was surprised by a TIA, a rare one that did more than blur my vision. I went to the toilet to sit down. The door had no latch and no stall around its throne but I sat and waited for my heart to settle. The door soon opened and a senior Republican stood in the door and asked the only sensible question, “Excuse me. Are you just getting started?” I resisted bad puns and responded with the only sensible answer that wouldn’t put me into an ambulance, “I need five minutes.” He left. I made my deadline and left the party.
I enjoyed my pain-free chest and gave $2.25 to a probable illegal in the cashier’s booth at the parking garage… Can we sign him up?
Meanwhile, I’m not really a “party” guy, it was still a rainy night, and probably the D’s were out working the neighborhoods…
Our hope: Enough Ds and independents will outnumber Philadelphia’s dead and imprisoned who are sure to vote in the coming election.