Next Up- Jim Bob

In all of my years on this Earth, I have never had the pleasure of attending one of the most peculiar competitions on Earth. The tractor-pull is exactly what you’d expect it to be; a bunch of tractors pulling a large weight. Unfortunately due to some technical difficulties I was only able to see the pulling ability of “Jim Bob” (No I’m not making that name up.)

Now I was not at this “creative” event for my own pleasure. The tractor pull was part of a bigger homecoming fair being held by a farming community just north of the city. Plenty of nice assuming folks, but being a small community I think they might have picked up the fact that I wasn’t a local. I guess I might have given it away when I didn’t immediately jump at the idea of buying a raffle ticket for a riffle, complete with ammo, targets and hours of fun.

I swear its me!

Call it big city naivete but apparently impersonating someone at Sam’s Club is a federal offense in Small Town USA. We needed candy and dog biscuits for a parade a little south of town, and given that only so many stores sell both items we decided on Sam’s Club. Well to no one’s surprise I am not a member of this prestigious club, so I had to borrow the card of the candidate’s brother.

Unfortunately the cashier most have known him because I was the read the riot act. This despite my pleading that I was in fact a large 40 something man who co-owned a car dealership in town. Thankfully I was let off with a stern warning (how benevolent of her) and told not to come back unless I was with the card holder.

To add insult to injury I was informed I could not use the campaign VISA credit card, which meant I had to use all of the reaming cash I had on hand. I now I have no cash and I don’t think either of my banks have ATM’s anywhere near here.

The whole experience made me feel like I was 20 again. Who can't relate to the old college cliche of trying to procure alcohol with an ID that was clearly not real. I originally thought the whole episode was reason number 10000 that this isn’t what I signed up for. But in retrospect I can’t help but laugh.

Toto we arn't in Kansas anymore

I’m not from Kansas and I’ve never been there. I grew up ridding the subway and the only farm I've ever been to was on a 7th grade field trip. I'm leaving all of that for a job in a small Midwestern town. Why? Chasing the dream of running my very own campaign for a candidate I’ve never met.

I left home yesterday amidst tears not knowing where my next stop would be. I knew what town I was going to be in but I didn’t know what it was like, or where exactly I’d be living.

As it turns out, I’m on the top floor of the candidate’s father in law’s house for the time being. It’s not an awful place I guess…ok who am I kidding? His father in-law is 81, smokes in the house, and watches jeopardy at a level normal reserved for movie theaters because of his hearing. The house itself is quite old and has fading pictures of “kids” who are now in their forties. Then there’s the fact that everything smells like cat, and I’m most certainly a dog person. Hopefully I’ll be in a place of my own soon, but at least I had somewhere to put my stuff for the time being.

Being a campaign manager should be kind of interesting, although my job description is a little hazy. He’s already won a primary so he has some organization already, and I’m attempting to find where I fit in.

Maybe Dorthy and I aren't so different after all?