I had just called a gentleman from a list handed to me. I had his name, gender, and a registration (R in this case). My "Hello, my name is Duus, and I'm a volunteer for the Obama/Biden campaign, I-" was met with a snort and a click. I put him under "McCain."
Most conversations had gone better. Like the one where the name I had was of the gentleman's mother, who was, if not bedridden, couldn't easily get to the phone. He was lukewarm about Obama, despite the D by his (mother's) name on sheet. "We're real Hillary supporters around here," he told me. "You know, we're mostly working class." My sheet had a few words about Obama's background and I picked out a few that I felt were relevant. Single working mom, the community organizing. I edited the hard-sell language a bit as I shared. "Yeah," he said, not committing. "I mean, we'll probably vote democrat, but-" he sighed. We talked about his mother a bit, and what he did, how long he'd been a Democrat (all his life, it sounded like.) By the time we said "goodbye," he'd convinced me he would get out and vote on November Fourth. Worth calling again, maybe.
My next call was Mrs. A-. "I'm a volunteer for the Obama/Biden campaign and I-"
"Go Obama!" she said in a weak voice; weak enough to make me glance at her age--nineties. We talked about about supporting Obama, and what that meant. "How do I get one of those yard signs?" she asked me.
Well, our group didn't have the signs, or the funds from the campaign to authorize sending them out. So the best we could recommend is that she go on-line to barackobama.com and order her own. I could do that, I suppose, but I had her address and I have an internet connection. Eight bucks for the campaign, I thought. "I'll make sure you get that yard sign, Mrs. A-," I said. "Just let me just verify your address."