again. "That's a big break. It could mean a lot in tracing who in hell was involved. Look. You must be tired, must be hungry, why don't you ---"
She shook her head. "No. Sorry. You're being a dear and all that, and any other day, I'd love to sit here in front of the fire and veg out, but not today, not after what happened."
"You're going back to Manchester."
"Yes," she said, a bit of steel showing in her voice. "I've talked to others in the campaign. I'm going back to Manchester and make the phone calls and stuff the envelopes and crunch the numbers, and I and the rest of the crew are going to work twice as hard, after some asshole tried to take our candidate away. Our next president, Lewis. He can make it, he really can, and I'm not going to sit on my butt and be intimidated."
"And such a lovely butt it is."
On any other occasion, that would have brought a smile, but this wasn't any other occasion. She stood up, put her coat back on, and bent down and kissed me quickly on the forehead. “I’ll call you, okay? Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
"All right. Be safe."
And in a few seconds, she was out the door, and I was alone.
I coughed some more and rolled myself up in the comforter, and thought again about turning on the television, but decided I needed sleep more than news. So sleep is what I got.
The phone ringing got me up, and I sat up, nose runny, throat raspy, my stomach still doing slow rolls. I answered the phone and there was nobody on the other end, and then there was a click and a bored female voice said, "Sir, good day, I'm conducting a survey of the presidential candidates, and I want to ask you a few questions if I may."
"I don't ---"
"Sir, would your vote in the New Hampshire primary be different if you knew that Senator Nash Pomeroy accepted PAC money from gun manufacturers, even though he comes from a state that saw two of its favorite sons cut down by assassin's bullets?"
"Good try," I said.
"Excuse me?" came the female voice.
"I said, good try. This isn't a survey. It's a push poll. You're trying to drive up the negative poll numbers for Senator Pomeroy by asking crap questions like this. Who's paying the freight? Which campaign or PAC?"
Click The mystery caller had hung up.
The constant joys of living in the first-in-the-nation primary state. Annoying phone call after annoying phone call.
I stumbled into the kitchen, washed my face, took a big swallow of orange juice that almost made me cough as the acidy juice slid down my throat, and then I started the stove to make a cup of tea.
Another ring of the phone. Another brief delay as the automated computer connected me to a live person, a woman again.
"Sir, I'm calling from Alliance Opinion Surveys, gauging the mood of the electorate. On a scale of one to ten, with one being strongly disagree and ten being strongly agree, how would you rate orbital space-based weapons as a campaign issue this year?"
"Orbital space-based weapons?" I asked, looking for a clean tea mug and accompanying tea bag.
"Yes, sir," she said. "On a scale of one to ten, with one being ---"
"How long?"
"Excuse me?"
"How long is this survey?"
"Sir, it's only fifty questions, and we find that most callers complete the survey in ---"
Click. Now it was my time to hang up.
I usually find these types of surveys oddly amusing, but I guess that's just me. Being from Massachusetts, my dear Annie never receives such phone calls, and Diane Woods of the Tyler Police Department says she hardly gets any at all, since she has an unlisted number. Paula Quinn of the Chronicle follows the three-second rule, meaning that if nobody on the other end speaks up in three seconds, she hangs up before the computer can switch her over to a live operator.
All of us in this state have different strategies, but I guess I like Felix's best. He politely listens to the opening remarks, and then says he has one question of his own: Does the caller have any suggestions for cleaning fresh
She shook her head. "No. Sorry. You're being a dear and all that, and any other day, I'd love to sit here in front of the fire and veg out, but not today, not after what happened."
"You're going back to Manchester."
"Yes," she said, a bit of steel showing in her voice. "I've talked to others in the campaign. I'm going back to Manchester and make the phone calls and stuff the envelopes and crunch the numbers, and I and the rest of the crew are going to work twice as hard, after some asshole tried to take our candidate away. Our next president, Lewis. He can make it, he really can, and I'm not going to sit on my butt and be intimidated."
"And such a lovely butt it is."
On any other occasion, that would have brought a smile, but this wasn't any other occasion. She stood up, put her coat back on, and bent down and kissed me quickly on the forehead. “I’ll call you, okay? Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
"All right. Be safe."
And in a few seconds, she was out the door, and I was alone.
I coughed some more and rolled myself up in the comforter, and thought again about turning on the television, but decided I needed sleep more than news. So sleep is what I got.
The phone ringing got me up, and I sat up, nose runny, throat raspy, my stomach still doing slow rolls. I answered the phone and there was nobody on the other end, and then there was a click and a bored female voice said, "Sir, good day, I'm conducting a survey of the presidential candidates, and I want to ask you a few questions if I may."
"I don't ---"
"Sir, would your vote in the New Hampshire primary be different if you knew that Senator Nash Pomeroy accepted PAC money from gun manufacturers, even though he comes from a state that saw two of its favorite sons cut down by assassin's bullets?"
"Good try," I said.
"Excuse me?" came the female voice.
"I said, good try. This isn't a survey. It's a push poll. You're trying to drive up the negative poll numbers for Senator Pomeroy by asking crap questions like this. Who's paying the freight? Which campaign or PAC?"
Click The mystery caller had hung up.
The constant joys of living in the first-in-the-nation primary state. Annoying phone call after annoying phone call.
I stumbled into the kitchen, washed my face, took a big swallow of orange juice that almost made me cough as the acidy juice slid down my throat, and then I started the stove to make a cup of tea.
Another ring of the phone. Another brief delay as the automated computer connected me to a live person, a woman again.
"Sir, I'm calling from Alliance Opinion Surveys, gauging the mood of the electorate. On a scale of one to ten, with one being strongly disagree and ten being strongly agree, how would you rate orbital space-based weapons as a campaign issue this year?"
"Orbital space-based weapons?" I asked, looking for a clean tea mug and accompanying tea bag.
"Yes, sir," she said. "On a scale of one to ten, with one being ---"
"How long?"
"Excuse me?"
"How long is this survey?"
"Sir, it's only fifty questions, and we find that most callers complete the survey in ---"
Click. Now it was my time to hang up.
I usually find these types of surveys oddly amusing, but I guess that's just me. Being from Massachusetts, my dear Annie never receives such phone calls, and Diane Woods of the Tyler Police Department says she hardly gets any at all, since she has an unlisted number. Paula Quinn of the Chronicle follows the three-second rule, meaning that if nobody on the other end speaks up in three seconds, she hangs up before the computer can switch her over to a live operator.
All of us in this state have different strategies, but I guess I like Felix's best. He politely listens to the opening remarks, and then says he has one question of his own: Does the caller have any suggestions for cleaning fresh
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