Caucus For You, Caucus For Me

Last night I went out for a little raucous caucusing. Not knowing what to expect, I naively set out on my journey at 6:15, giving myself a full fifteen minutes to travel five miles.  No problem.  Little did I know that twenty five thousand other Boulderites headed out at about the same time, and because this is Boulder, half of them were on their bikes, in the dark, begging me to bump them off.  Roughly ten thousand were walking, weaving in and out of the cars so that parallel parking became a game of Dodge-The-Pedestrian-While-Cussing-Them-The-Fuck-Out.  Finally, I parked in front of a stop sign and became one of the obnoxious pedestrians weaving in and out of traffic.  I hated my obnoxiousness so much, at one point I deliberately stepped directly in front of a moving vehicle.  Luckily, that fucker had ninja reflexes and swerved.  Crisis averted.  I still had to caucus.

It was a mild night and I thought I’d sashay right in to the middle school and get my caucus on without delay. How many flavors of wrong was I.  The line to caucus snaked around the entire middle school campus, around six city blocks.  After ten minutes, a slight breeze began to blow.  After twenty, a distinct chill had set in.  The kids behind me were very definitely stoners and couldn’t stop talking about pizza.  Could they get a pizza delivered to the line?  Could they run and go buy several and sell them by the slice?  How about pot brownies?  Finally, one of them headed back to the car and returned with some Twizzlers.  By this time, I was starving, but declined the offer of a Twizzler, because I’m still not eating sugar.  Inside, a part of me died.

After more than an hour in line with the Stoner Brigade, we were finally admitted to the caucus. Rooms were organized by neighborhood, so people craned their necks at the single map on the wall to see the number that corresponded to their neighborhood.  I, being a tall person, glanced at the map and saw what looked like my area, not giving much more than two fucks at this point, and picked a number.  Soon I was in a room for 801.  The caucus had just begun.

The leader asked people to speak on the candidates they supported. People stood and gave impassioned speeches for their candidate.  One lady cried, she loved Bernie so much.  Another lady had a bad case of the Couldn’t Shut The Fuck Ups, and interjected, shook her head violently, and hissed whenever people pleaded for Bernie.  It was a Christmas Miracle that she didn’t get punched.  (There’s always one of those in a crowd, isn’t there?)  I personally did not stand up and speak, but I did play Hardass Enforcer when people tried to speak for the second or third time, saying in my “Don’t Fuck With This Bitch” voice:  “Let’s let someone speak who hasn’t.”  Implicit in that was “I’ll cut you if you don’ t sit down and shut up” but my communication has become so effective, I didn’t have to even go there!  Score on for Bipolar On Fire.

At last, and I mean AT LAST!!! The room separated into Bernie supporters and Hillary supporters.  Delegates and Backup Delegates were chosen.  And then…that was it!  They had a count of how many were supporting each candidate, and we turned in a slip with our names on it, and voila!  The whole ordeal was over and we were free to go.  I hauled ass to my car and headed home, only to hit the worst traffic I’ve ever experienced in Boulder.  Damned if it didn’t take me over half an hour to go five miles.  I almost cried.  I DID say every curse word I knew, repeatedly.  And the verdict on caucusing in this great democracy of ours?  WHAT A MASSIVE CLUSTER-FUCK!!!