Phone Bank Phun

Ah, the phone bank. In exchange for three tickets for the McCain-Palin rally in Hershey, I caved in and agreed to do two hours of phone calling for the ticket. I could have said no; but, hey, they told me they needed my help, and civilization hangs in the balance. I hadn't done phone banking for at least twenty years. Now I remember why. I realize now that I'd rather have multiple root canals, without Novocaine, or a barium enema, or be admitted to a hospital, than make unsolicited political phone calls.

They give you a list. Where did the list come from? Who knows; they didn't tell us. Most of the numbers are wrong numbers. And even if the numbers are right, nobody answers a land-line phone anymore. And with those generic, robotic answering messages, you don't know if you're calling the person on your list or Mickey Mouse (an Obama supporter, by the way). Of the few people who do answer, quite a few just hang up on you. Even people who support your candidate don't like being called.

And wherever the list came from, why do people give their work numbers? Applebee's? At least they have those head sets. "Patch me through." You want political campaigns calling you at work? And yesterday, on my third shift making phone calls (yes, I'm a big sucker), I finally called a dead person (another Obama supporter). Her son wasn't too happy to have to tell me that his mother has been dead for five years. And guess what? The automatic phone system does have a selection for "deceased."

I wish I had a dollar for every time a respondent, after I asked for the person on the list, said "Who??" You ask yourself, why am I doing this? Why is anybody doing this? I guess if our guys win by a couple votes (throwing the election into endless litigation anyway), it'll be worth it; but isn't there a better way?

Tomorrow, I'm putting in my last hour. ("An hour a day keeps Obama away," they say.) I guess the script will say, "Hello, did you know there's a world-changing presidential election today?"