Vignette: Random Panera East of… Somewhere Or Other

(Full disclosure:  Fatigue poisoning had long since set in, so some of this I’m cobbling together from garbled recorded rants.  This is as close as I can come to making sense out of it without losing the sense of who I was at the time.  Not sure whether to include this or not, to be honest — but there’s no way to know until I get it transcribed, is there?  Read on at your own risk.)

I think this is the fourth event I’ll have attended today, but I’m not sure.  I was up writing until past 2 this morning, and back at the keyboard at 6.  There’s so much caffeine in me, my fingers are vibrating too much to type, so this is going into the pocket recorder straight and God help us all.

Tech Guy Griff is taking a bathroom break before the Warren event.  I’ve got a couple minutes and I want to use them before my last vestiges of sanity desert me.

Apparently the Warren campaign is so freaked out about having gotten ambushed by both Vermin Supreme and Rod Webber in one day that they aren’t even considering credentialing me for tonight’s event.  Just got one of the rudest brush-offs, amounting to “Please Don’t Come”.  Which beats the response I got from Buttigieg’s people:  “You’ll get ejected if you dare to show up” was not something I’d anticipated going into this mess.  Don’t think I’ll mention either message to my Team; morale’s pretty low as it is what with the rubber breakfasts.  The weather’s bad but par for this course.

We also just lost one of my pre-sold article slots.  Apparently Biden gaffed again (incomprehensibly — I know what a dogface is and “Pony Soldier” was a Tyrone Power western from before even Biden was born… well, maybe not, come to think on it) and we were at the wrong Town Hall so we missed out.  That fee would have come in handy.

It’s two days (or is it three?) until the Primary.  We’re going to have to move inhumanly fast if we’re to get to see everyone, and it doesn’t help that Pete’s people only have him in massive überdome facilities.  (Who knew they even had those in New Hampshire?  What could they possibly be used for the rest of the year?!  And where are they going to find fifteen thousand people to fill it?!?)  There’s absolutely no way to get the sort of first-hand access that I need to any candidate that’s walled-in by paid bodyguards.  Which is the whole reason I’m not even considering the Trump rally, which otherwise would be amazing for contrast.  But screw that.  They’re already camping outside the venue to keep their places in line.  Madness.  It’s Trump, not NASCAR.

The American voting public taken as a lump would be completely indigestible; fair enough.  But even one group at a time is tough to force down.  You people are crazy and you’re stupid, and I can’t actually tell which is which when, not any more.  Even the ones that make sense most of the time all have that one subject you Must Never Bring Up or they start ranting at you while their eyes come unfocused and their hands start twitching spasmodically as though gripping the Proverbial Blunt Instrument.

Everyone that doesn’t live in New Hampshire would be amazed at the vast number of Trump supporters there are in this state.  I think a lot of them will vote Trump just because they’re so pissed off at the swarms of Democrats taking over their YouTube feeds and radio and TV for the past year, and they can’t think of a better way to get their revenge.  Which makes some sense, but then again the campaigns bring in a crap-ton of money, so I really don’t know.  I tried asking the waitress, but I think she’s under the impression that I’m either drunk or crazy.  Just because I threatened to rip out that damn miserable flickering light fixture by the roots.  I’d move but this is the only outlet.  Which is silly because I can’t type anyway so the laptop is useless.  God I need sleep.

Instead I’m about to go watch a Warren rally because this is the only one we’ll be able to get into for the next God knows how long.  My notes from that will be really interesting.

They’re staring at me for talking to myself now.  I tried grinning and waving my pocket recorder at them but it’s not helping.  You’d think they’d be used to the press by now.  Maybe it’s me being print media; we’re a dying breed.

That’s Griff back.  Time to get on the road.  Just in time; I fear the cops may be on the way to eject me.  Dear God I hate everyone right now.

There was also a long rant about wheels always turning, but for the life of me I have no clue what half the words were.

Hand to God, no alcohol was harmed in the making of this vignette.

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