He could tolerate people who pretended not to be home,
usually with their TVs blaring and sometimes plainly visible from the porch,
but began to doubt his mission when another door slammed in his face. The person answered with a confused
scowl, looked him up and down, and said “No!” before he’d had a chance to say
anything.
He reminisced about the phone bank and walked to the next
house. It was never a personal
assessment when whoever was on the other end of the line hung up. They disappeared and a computer
automatically dialed another number.
Here, he was a stranger with a clipboard and tie standing on
their doorstep. Maybe the people
might be more forgiving if they knew how uncomfortable he was wearing a tie or
that this canvassing was his punishment.
At the phone bank he could wear T-shirts and flirt with the
candidate’s daughter.
