A Few Minutes in the Life of a Superdelegate

A month ago Dan was an overworked Democratic pol. He spent most of his life doing thankless, anonymous tasks for the Democratic Party. His cell phone almost never rang.

Now he’s a superdelegate.

He still spends most of his life doing thankless, anonymous tasks for the Democratic party. Only now his cell phone rings a lot.

Last Wednesday morning Dan was in a good mood. The day before he’d attended a Clinton rally where he’d had his picture taken with Senator Clinton.

His girlfriend called him. She asked him how it went with Clinton.

“Fine.”

“Don’t tell me ‘fine.’ What’d you talk about?”

Dan didn’t say anything.

“Money?”

“No.”

“Strategy?”

“No.”

“Some sort of Hail Mary pass that would save her campaign?”

“No.”

“So what’d you talk about?”

“Pocket protectors.”

“You may be talking with the next president of the United States and
you talked about pocket protectors?”

Dan was talking to his girlfriend via his cell phone, but he nodded.

“There was a guy—”

His girlfriend interrupted, “Who had a pen leak in his shirt. So you talked about pocket protectors. Dan, you were talking with Clinton. You couldn’t have said, ‘Let’s raise some more money? Let’s adjust to what Obama does better? Let’s organize better? And you talked about pocket protectors?”

“The senator agreed with me. The guy who’d had a pen leak, his life would be better if he’d worn a pocket protector.”

Dan had only recently given up wearing a pocket protector. His girlfriend counted it as a victory. The truth is less valiant. The stationary store where Dan used to buy his pocket protectors went out of business.

“Dan, you’re not thinking about wearing a pocket protector again are you?”

Dan has his faults. But he wasn’t an idiot. “Of course not.”

“Phew. That was close.”

He had to go. He had another call.

With Slick

Dan looked both ways, then he crossed a street. Then he looked at his cell phone. Someone other than his girlfriend actually was calling him. He put his cell phone to his ear. He heard a familiar voice. It said, “Hi Dan, Bill Clinton here.”

“Slick! Good to talk with you.” Then Dan remembered that the former President did not like the nickname. Dan apologized.

The former president was gracious.

They chatted—or rather the former President talked.

Dan knew the former president was calling to woo him. Dan knew that this phone call was no more than a political gesture done to solicit Dan’s vote as a superdelegate. But Dan savored the moments the former President talked to him.

The former president tried to persuade Dan to endorse Senator Clinton.

Dan had another call, but he ignored it. Dan said he was waiting until the primaries were over to pledge his vote.

President Clinton praised this tactic. “Don’t want the people think the politicians are tilting the process.” The former President went on to say that the new administration would need bright young minds like Dan’s.

Dan knew he was being pandered to. But he loved it.

The former President asked Dan what he was doing. Dan was on his way to the post office. Then he was going to a bookstore. His girlfriend was taking a class and had to write a paper on the Mideast. He was going to pick up a book for her.

They said goodbye.

As Dan stepped into the post office, Dan’s phone rang again. Again Dan looked at his cell phone. It was definitely his cell phone. And it definitely was ringing.

Michelle Obama had called him. She boiled down a version of her stump speech. She said that Barak cut his teeth on Chicago politics. It doesn’t get much tougher than that. Barak is tough.

Dan had heard the stump speech. He liked the stump speech. But he preferred talking with the former President. He told bigger lies.

As Dan stepped out of the post office, Dan’s cell phone rang again.

He looked up toward the sky. He expected to see pigs flying.

But above him was just regular old sky.

“I hear you’re writing a paper.”

“Dan, this is Madeline Albright.” Albright was Secretary of State under Clinton. “I hear you’re writing a paper.”

Dan wasn’t writing a paper. His girlfriend was. But he listened politely as Albright shoveled quotes to him.

Dan’s favorite quotation was one he’d heard the former Secretary of State say before, “The Palestinians never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity.”

Dan realized the Clinton camp was not missing an opportunity to massage an opportunity.

Soon after his conversation with Albright ended, Dan’s cell phone rang again. “Dan, this is Bert Wooster. I’m with a plastics trade group. Hear you have a shortage of pocket protectors in your neck a the woods.”

Dan realized someone from Senator Clinton’s staff no doubt had contacted Bert.

Bert schmoozed Dan for a few minutes.

Pictures and Pain

Then Dan realized that the Obama campaign had e-mailed him pictures. Dan opened his cell phone and admired the pictures. Dan saw himself smiling as he stood next to Michelle Obama. Dan saw himself smiling as he stood next to Barak Obama.

Then Dan felt a pain in his chest.

The pain seemed to have tossed him backward.

A large black woman shouted at him, “You tryin to be stupid?”

Dan had no idea what was going on.

He felt a gust of wind. Soon he realized the gust of wind came from an SUV that had raced past him.

The black woman continued to yell, “Wat you doin? Starin at those pictures when youse about to walk across tha street? Mista, you ain’t got the sense God gave a turnip.”

Dan realized what had happened. He’d been thinking about the phone calls he’d been getting. He’d been looking at the pictures. For a moment he had forgotten that he was being pandered to.

For a moment he was dazzled by the people he had been speaking with.

Then he realized he’d almost walked onto the street.

The large black woman probably saved his life.

She continued to yell at him. But he felt nothing but kind, warm, fuzzy thoughts about her. He thanked her.

She shouted at him, “Dat SUV coulda squashed you—you coulda been flatter n week-old Pepsi.”

He got it. The black woman was trying to tell him that looking at photos on your cell phone is a dangerous thing to do . . . if you are crossing a street. Dan also realized that taking the comments from politicians too seriously also was very dangerous.

But important people wanted to talk with him. Important people wanted Dan to think he was important. It was nice being noticed. It was nice to be courted. Dan closed his cell phone and smiled.

Janus and Jerry

Line of the Week

Comes to us courtesy of Late Night’s Conan O’Brien, "After John McCain swept yesterday's primaries he purposely stole a line Barack Obama's been using, 'I'm fired up and ready to go.' When Obama heard this, he stole a line McCain's been using, 'I'm old and not sure where I am.'"

Janus and Jerry

When Janus and Jerry met for dinner last Wednesday, Janus was in a lousy mood. Her mood was not difficult to explain. For the last six months she’d been working eighty hours a week for Hillary Clinton.

In the last days, the senator had lost eight primaries in a row. Obama had taken the lead in the delegate count. And he’d also managed to capture all the momentum and most of the good headlines.

Jerry is not as organized as Janus would like. She’d arrived at seven-thirty; he arrived at eight.
They talked about the campaign for a while.

Jerry said, “The tears were good.”

“The what were good?”

“The tears . . . the tears Clinton cried . . . in New Hampshire.”

Janus nearly snapped at him, “The tears were a hundred years ago.”

Jerry gave a look that shouted, “What do you want from me?”

Janus said, “I want evidence that Clinton has a sense of humor.”

“Clinton laughed once.”

“In 1952.”

“Janus, you’re tired, you should get some sleep.”

“You know the news is bad.”

“It’s darkest before the dawn.”

“I think it’s about eight o’clock in the evening.”

Crash and Burn

Jerry told Janus about a satellite that was falling to earth. The US was going to spend sixty million dollars to shoot it down. Jerry figured it was a spy satellite of some sort. Otherwise they would let it crash and burn.

“’Crash and Burn,’ that’s not a bad title.”

“For Bush’s memoirs?”

“I was thinking of our campaign.”

The waiter arrived. Janus said, “Most of the time the campaign is important people talking about trivial things.”

Jerry said, “I thought that’s what a game show was.”

The waiter laughed.

Janus wondered if a game show format could be used as an effective campaign advertisement.

The waiter handed Jerry and Janus their menus. Then he left.

Jerry asked, “Is it okay if I order this fancy thing? This what do you
call-it?”

“They call it ‘the super.’ ”

“Is it okay if I order ‘the super’?”

“Can you spend a half an hour waiting for your dinner?”

He nodded.

“Can you spend an hour eating dinner?”

He nodded.

“Do you have forty-nine ninety-five?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t order the ‘super.’”

Later, when the check came, Jerry didn’t reach for it.

She said, “What is this, you’re not organized? You don’t have any money.” Janus continued,

“What is this? The Clinton campaign?”

I Thought it’d be Over

Jerry said, “I thought it’d be over weeks ago. Whenever I date someone for a while, it always ends in February.”

“Jerry, I haven’t been dating you, I‘ve been living with the Clinton campaign.”

“And seeing me on the side?”

Janus nodded.

Jerry asked, “Your job is your life, and your life is your mistress?”

Janus got angry, “Jerry you don’t get it. I’m a woman. You’re a man, You can’t be my mistress.”

Jerry nodded.

Janus continued, “I’m trying to tell you that we don’t have to break up . . . just because it’s February.”

“So there’s no one else?”

“Jerry, I barely have time for you.”

“So I’ve been addressing the wrong things—I’ve had a lousy strategy.”

Janus nodded.

Jerry said, “So you’re saying dinner and a movie and sex—”

“Jerry, when have we had time for a movie?”

“We saw a movie once.”

“Jerry we saw a movie last August.”

“So you’re saying dinner and sex means—”

“It means dinner and sex.”

Jerry looked as if he’d just seen a John McCain roller-skating in a buffalo herd.

Janus said, “So you get it?”

“Of course.”

Janus smiled.

A few seconds passed.

Janus asked. “Are you sure you get it?

Jerry replied, “I never get anything. But when I’m out with an attractive woman and she says, ‘Do you get it?’ I nod.”

“Good tactic Jerry. Good tactic.”

Jerry said, “So you don’t care that I blew it? That I thought we’d be done by say the beginning of February?”

“Of course I care.”

“But I’ve had a lousy strategy, I’m not as organized as I should be, I miss things, I don’t have nearly enough money, I don’t adjust fast enough, I feel I have to lob some miracle pass to catch up . . . I get a sense that it’s all over.”

“Jerry are you talking about us, or are you talking about the Clinton campaign?”

“I don’t know.”