The Politician WC 212

The Politician
WC 212

The candidate hadn’t given his speech yet, but I couldn’t contain my reaction to this dull, senile old man.

I approached the dais.

“I find you insipid!” I blurted. “Irrelevant.”

As rude as my outburst was, it was surprisingly cathartic.

“Well, thank you so much. I appreciate your support.”

Say what? Was anybody home?

I was a supporter of his opponent, a robust and rambunctious man who lit up the room when he spoke. I could see that vital man leading our nation, not this shell of a man propped up by his sycophants.

Out of curiosity, I felt the need to attend this campaign event. Unfortunately, I realized too late that my presence gave this candidate inadvertent approval.

He reached for my hand; I instinctively backed away. Embarrassed by my involuntary reaction, I leaned into the handshake.

I wanted to say, “You would be deadly for our country” and see whether he would thank me for that observation, too.

“Well, showtime,” he said and hobbled toward the podium; the teleprompter containing his handler’s words was at the ready.

His eyes were vacant as he rambled on, following the empty promises on the teleprompter. At least the speech was mercifully short.

I prayed my vote would count; I guess it didn’t.