As a registered Libertarian, I don’t have a viable horse in the ongoing race for the presidency. I am sure the Libertarians have a candidate. I assume he or she has a name. But when your party snags .05% of the popular vote they don’t garner too much press coverage. I probably won’t learn the Libertarian candidate’s identity until I step into the polling booth in my traditional Election Day garb--trench coat, black socks and shoes, no pants.
And though I really don’t know who my candidate is, I have an advantage over my Republican and Democratic counterparts—I don’t have to grapple with 24/7 news coverage of every flaw, wart and misstatement attributed to my candidate. I have no reservations when I vote and I like it.
I wish others could be as undistracted as I. But if you’re voting for a major party candidate how do you ignore the nonstop barrage of mudslinging and dredging up of past missteps? I know what my guy stands for—minimal government. I’m good with that, even if we attract a few ganja-smoking hippies who want to be free to spark up their bongs while hurtling down speed limitless highways (highways that are in a sad state of disrepair because our limited Libertarian government has curtailed the fuel tax.)
Ok, so the Libertarian view has some flaws, but I do appreciate that our candidates—if for no other reason than their irrelevance—are scandal free. I wish all candidates could be judged solely on their positions.
Good gravy people. Do I really care what Barack’s pastor said while trying to whip up his congregation into a little frenzy? I’d hate it if someone compiled YouTube clips of the Top Ten dumbest things I ever said. And is it really so offensive that Hillary exaggerated the events surrounding her Bosnia trip? I’ve been on a first date or two, and if memory serves me right, I may a taken a little literary license in describing my life experiences to make a better impression.
We all have skeletons in our closets and wreckage of our past. Consider me. I’m a decent guy. But put a little alcohol in me and I am quite comfortable making pee pee in the most inappropriate places. Though I have cut out the alcohol and thus curtailed this activity in recent years, there was a time when alcohol and creative urination played an important role in my life.
For example, back in my 20’s I held the position of General Manager for a small software development concern. My responsibilities were great, my resources were limited and I spent an inordinate amount of time at the office. Working late most nights, I was often drawn to the corner liquor store up the street… a little something, something to get me through the late hours.
As most know, alcohol is really not purchased. It is rented briefly as works quickly to exit the body via the urethra. I drink. I pee. Therefore I am.
Problem was, however, that alcohol also clouds one’s judgment. Sober, I frequently, though not consistently, use modern porcelain toilettes when the need arises. But put alcohol in me, and my inner primal man emerges--the world is my toilette when I drink.
Such was the case one Friday night in my office. I worked. I drank. I felt the urge.
It was my intention to stagger down the hall to the bathroom. But as I made my way down the dimly lit hall, an illuminated lamp on my boss’s desk caught my bloodshot eye. Like a new star in the sky showing camel-riding wise men the path to take, that desk lamp illuminated a small potted plant that seemed to say: “Hey strained bladder, I am here to provide relief.”
Relief is what I so desperately needed and relief is what I found. Finishing my business I returned to my office where I worked until the fog lifted and I was ready to proceed home.
In the morning, I was ready to enjoy my weekend. Sure there was a little flicker of a thought that my judgment was a bit impaired the night before. But a bowl of heavily-sweetened Grape nuts and a quickly gulped beer quickly erased that concern… until the phone rang.
It was my boss, Mary.
Mary: “Good morning Rick, you got a minute?”
Me: “Sure, what’s up?”
Mary: “Did you work late last night?”
Me: “Umm… yeah, I was there for awhile?”
Sweat began to bead on my brow. The uncontrolled clenching of my buttocks forced a beer/Grape nuts burp to take form.
Mary: “Were you there when the janitors stopped by.”
Where was this headed? Did those illegals narc me out?
Me: “Yeah, they did their thing while I was there.”
Truth be told, they were there pre-urination… did they come back unannounced? Had they spotted my impromptu plant watering?
Mary: “Did Lupe bring her husband? Or was she there alone?
Hmmm… I sensed a scapegoat.
Me: “Yeah, her husband was there. Why?”
Mary: “I don’t know how to say this, but I think he peed in the plant on my desk.”
Me (feigning shock as my buttocks loosened): “You’re kidding. Are you sure?”
Of course she was sure. Why would she think her general manager would do such a thing? Mexico is one big why-use-a-toilette-when-there-is-a-perfectly-good-wall? kind of place.
Mary: “I didn’t want to think so, but there is definitely the smell of urine coming from this plant. What should I do?”
Hmmm. I had the perfect scapegoat. But if she got confrontational, their pleas of innocence might prevail.
Me: “You know, I can’t believe someone would do such a thing. Maybe you’re just smelling fertilizer. That plant food stuff reeks.”
Mary: “No, I thought that, but it is definitely urine.”
Me: “Maybe so, but you can’t risk confronting them on something as sensitive as this. I wouldn’t bring it up. Lupe is your friend and that would just be too awkward if you got it wrong. Just ask them not to water the plants. He’ll get the message.”
It went on from there. For 15 minutes I worked to convince her that confronting the accused would only jeopardize a marginal friendship. I don’t know how I finally convinced her, but I was very motivated to see that this issue was not pursued any further.
So there you have it. A glimpse… only a small glimpse into why, in the big scheme of things I am not that horrified when a little dirt comes up on an aspiring politician. Do we really need to know the minute details of a presidential candidate’s life? Let’s judge them on their voting records, platforms and proposals... ok, it's a stretch but I was committed to a wee wee story and politics have been on my mind as of late... deal.
