The presidential election is over a year away and seeing the hoops of fire that candidates must jump through during this ludicrous electoral process always makes me think, “Who would want that job?”
Years ago, when I was a good bit younger and significantly more idealistic, I flirted with the idea of a career in politics. It was always in the back of my mind but now, after a very brief fling in the world of elected politics, it is gone for good.
It was several years ago that my neighbor Clarice stopped me when I was walking the dog. I did not know that Clarice was a member of our local homeowners Association, grandly called the “Board of Ambassadors,” nor did I know that she was the Chairperson Emeritus of the Recruitment Committee.
“That’s a lofty title,” I said. “How nice!”
She sighed. “I missed a meeting while I was on vacation” she said. “When I came back I was the Chairperson.”
I nodded and started to walk away but she got right to the point. “I think you’d be a great addition to the Board of Ambassadors,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“Hear me out,” said Clarice.
“I’m not interested,” I said.
Clarice ignored me, explaining that the Board of Ambassadors was a group of 17 elected people who, I subsequently learned, work under a veil of secrecy that would impress the Freemasons. Clarice explained that they met once a month and that it was my “Civic Duty” to run.
“No,” I said.
Clarice started to tell me about the important work the Board did, but I was skeptical. “If they do so much good work,” I said, “wouldn’t I have heard of it?” Clarice was silent so I pressed my point: “What have they accomplished recently?” I asked.
Clarice was silent for a long time. “Our work is not measured by what we accomplish,” she said loftily. Then, feeling she was losing control of the situation she switched gears. “It’s just one hour a month,” she said.
“No,” I said again, and when Clarice started to argue I held up my hand. “Listen,” I said; “I am not a committee person: I don’t play well with others. Besides,” I added, “having a committee with 17 people on it is absurd; there’s no way that 17 people can agree that the ocean is salty.,”
She changed tactics again. “Please?” she said pathetically. She told me that there were only 17 people running for election to a 17 person Board so she was desperate to make it look like there was at least some democratic choice. “That’s why we need you,” she said. “I promise you won’t win.”
I was confused. “I’m running to lose?” I asked, and she nodded vigorously.
“The top 17 vote getters will be elected,” she said. “You’re an unkown. You’re guaranteed to lose.”
I sighed, clearly this was an election that I had been preparing for my entire life so, predictably, I caved. “Well,” I said, “as long as you guarantee I’ll lose, you can put me on the ballot.”
I won.
Somehow, and mind you I did not even bother to vote, I got two votes beating the hapless eighteenth person on the ballot who only got one. If I had voted for myself I would have scored a statistical landslide.
“How did this happen?” I asked Clarice, who was as dumbfounded as I was.
“No one knows you,” she said, as stunned as I was, but then she brightened. “But doesn’t it make you feel good to know there is someone who’s an even bigger loser than you?”
My time on the Board was not distinguished.
The highlight of my first meeting, which as it turned out was my last, was seeing two octogenarian Ambassadors almost come to fisticuffs over whether to recommend the City plant shade trees or palm trees in a non-existent median strip on Bayview Drive. The Board rapidly took sides and during the ensuing, extended screaming match I quietly escaped.
As fate would have it I was conveniently out of town on business for the next 11 meetings and as my term was about to end, Clarice called me. “Sorry,” she said, “you can’t run again due to term limits.”
“It was an honor to serve,” I said with dignity.
“You can run again after taking a year off,” said Clarice. “You have a mandate now; I’d hate to see you to squander it.