Let me preface this by saying that every rumor you've heard about Katherine Harris -
Corruption,
Campaign staffers jumping ship, and having
batshit crazy religious notions are absolutely true. I can say this with certainty because a large portion of my summer was spent at her side, working as a campaign aide. Not so much spent at her side, I suppose, as joined at her hip.
Like many Universities across the nation, mine too has been hobbled by a lack of adequate student housing. But rather than simply build more dorms, UT took the rather unorthodox approach of farming out its grad students to whatever out-of-state entity would take us on as interns. I was first dismayed to find myself banished to Tampa, Florida, then downright mortified when I found out that my new employer was none other than then Katherine Harris campaign. I was their new IT guy. It was that or go to Mexico, because the rest of the good internships were already taken.
My first stop on the road of bitter disappointments was her campaign headquarters, which was to become my new home. Figuratively and literally. Located in a dingy strip mall between a Publix grocery store and a payday loans shop, HQ was conveniently within walking distance of most of Harris's talking points - immigration/border control, drug use, and crime. I was shown to my new office by a potato-shaped volunteer, who told me that she would be back soon with Representative Harris. Three days later I was remembered when the staff needed someone to go next door for toilet paper, and a week after that I was given a computer. A desk would follow shortly, they said.
I spent the next few weeks sprawled out on the carpeted floor, playing a copy of Dark Forces I'd found in the trunk of my car on the dilapidated Packard Bell they'd given me. Finding that my office was quieter than an apartment and had free central air, I also moved in. I think once or twice someone came by and knocked on my door, but they usually went away after a while.
I first met Katherine Harris after she spilled a glass of elma kayi all over the keyboard of her laptop. While I recognized her from all of the 2000 election recount hoopla, but in person she looked kind of.... different. Less makeup, slightly better hair, a darker complexion. After a curt introduction, she let me know that my future in the organization, nay life in general depended on me recovering the files stored on her soggy, dead laptop. I clean and repaired for hours before another intern lead me to a storage room containing several pallets of brand new, unopened Apple equipment. She had a new laptop with the old drive before dinner, and I answered once and for all the question of just how many computers a person could find reasonable uses for in one setting. The answer is 16.
The next day she stopped by my office and asked me if I could help her change the wallpaper on her computer. A similar question about volume control followed a few hours later, and after that the floodgates were open. I didn't realize it at the time, but fixing her problems would be my downfall. She came to depend on me more and more for technical advice, dragging me away from my Mr. Universe-esq array of monitors for simple matters like plugging in her network cables and getting her coffee. Before long, I'd found what so many people had died searching for - her good side.
It started with an off-hand remark about a shirt that I was wearing, one which had the Buddy Christ on it. We discussed religion for a little bit; I mostly dodged questions about mine (I'm not) and instead let her "share" her faith. She went on at length about a litany of religious topics, including abortion, gay marriage, and oddly enough Judaism. I nodded politely throughout her speech, seizing each opportunity to gaze at her boobies whenever she looked heavenwards. Among the things that stand out in my mind about our conversation: Gays going to hell, something about feeling Jewish, and the glory that is underwire support. These conversations became more regular, consuming vast swaths of my day and eventually spreading to my office.
I think this is because out of all of her staffers, I was in probably the best position. While others had the unenviable task of delivering bad news about sagging poll numbers, putting the best spin on the developing bribery scandal, or distracting the press from her public gaffes, I could do no wrong in her eyes. I was the only one of her staffers who could fix problems as they came up - the rest of the staff simply had no chance, as by that point the campaign was in pretty serious trouble.
I think it was sometime in June when Chris, Glenn and a few others hit the road. I'd heard the fight all the way down in my office, even with the door shut and a game of Doom playing in the background. The next day she asked me to drive her to a charity event, and from there on out I was on the road with her. Quite suddenly I found my responsibilities increasing, and realized that I was assuming tasks that no one else was doing. The rats were abandoning ship.
Now I don't want to give the impression that I was doing everything. She still had some very capable staff members in Rhyan and Diane, who did their best to keep the show running. What I found myself doing was more along the lines of aide work - making reservations, arranging media spots, that sort of thing. I've been told that I can be seen in the background of a few AP pictures, but I've never been able to find them. I tended to stay backstage and out of the way. Then there was the whole mess with The Tree Incident, and with Rhyan out of the picture things started to get worse.
Watching Katherine Harris come unhinged was like watching a train wreck play out in slow motion. Each deserting staffer was a knife in the back, each letter from the Justice Department caused another tantrum, and each day brought only more bad news. She snapped at us frequently, lashing out with long-winded speeches about how everyone was working against her. One moment she was adamant in her belief that god was leading her to victory; another bad writeup in the Post would send her crashing back to Earth. I saw her campaign melting away before her eyes as the number of cars in her convoy steadily dropped until we were all sharing one vehicle. Slowly, the façade began to crack.
The last straw was when Dubya blew her off when he went stopped in Florida about two months ago. While he chatted with her briefly at fund raiser in Tampa, she was not invited to the next stop - quite the snub, especially coming from a president who was desperate to keep his part afloat. I remember the car ride home that night, distinct in how quiet it was. She didn't say a word as we breezed through the nearly empty streets of Tamapa, listening to the news coverage on the radio. I looked over just once as we drove, and caught a lump in my throat as I saw tears stream silently down her face.
When we arrived back at the office, I took care of some odds and ends while she made a few phone calls. Just as I was calling it a night, she came to the doorway of my office and tapped on the frame.
"I... just wanted to tell you how much I appreciated your help back there;" she said in a low, shaky voice. "These haven't been the easiest days... and.... uh..." her voice started to quiver, and I could see the tears coming again. I got up and walked over to her, putting an arm around her shoulder.
"It'll work out. For better or for worse," I told her.
Drawing close to me, she then laid her head on my shoulder and embraced me, quietly sobbing.
I don't care what sort of person you are - where you grew up, how you were raised, if you're religious or not - everyone has an obligation in this sort of situation. Here was the woman who had put that tyrant Bush into power, who stood for issues I found downright disgusting, who had just a few days earlier threw a paperweight at one of my coworkers... and I couldn't help but feel compassion for her. I was standing by and watching someone go through the most painful experience of their life, one that I could not bear to go through alone myself. I returned the embrace, holding her tight. The tears flowed freely, and I felt her grip tighten around my waist. Then I felt something else.
The blood drained from my face as I gently pulled her away from me and held her at arms length, staring with open horror into her eyes. For just the briefest of moments I let my gaze slip down her body.
A bulge at her midsection starting to grow, growing... erect. Her dress started to tent up there, steadily moving upwards... much the same way my pants had, just a few moments ago.
Only larger.
I left no forwarding address.