Relationships are all about compromise. There are a bunch of activities that may appeal to one person in a relationship that the other person has zero interest in.
Two examples spring to mind:
Because my girlfriend was in the Peace Corps and went to China for two years, we saw Shen Yun, a classical Chinese dance performance. It was horrible.
Because I’ve followed and played soccer since the days where nobody knew who Landon Donovan was, we went to Yankee Stadium to watch an NYCFC game. That was, we agreed, less horrible. (I know going to a baseball stadium to watch soccer is probably un-American but I can’t look back now.)
Both of these events were motivated by ONE of us having a specific interest. Each time, one of us sucked it up and went along with whatever the other wanted to do.
This is why, last Sunday, I went door to door to convince people to vote for Bernie Sanders.
I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t give a shit about politics. I’m 26, so I’m in the demographic where I honestly should. But I don’t.
My girlfriend, on the other hand, gives a shit. She gives many shits. She’s supported Bernie Sanders for as long as we’ve dated. She’s donated money to his campaign more than once. I had to convince her to not buy a “Bernie is Buff” adult coloring book. So it was no surprise to me when she said she was going door to door for him.
Would I go? You bet your ass I would go.
We arrived at Bernie HQ on a cloudy Sunday morning. The guy in charge was wearing a bandanna, pajamas, and sandals. He ended every sentence with “man.” Like “I don’t trust this whole process, man” and “We’ve been phone banking all weekend, man.” He looked like he harvested quinoa in his basement. Essentially, he was a living, breathing stereotype.
We get a list of addresses and drive out to them. It starts lightly raining but we’re optimistic. Then as we approach the first house, it starts raining harder. Like, torrential-downpour harder.
Because of course it did.
We walk to the first house and knock on the door. A woman approaches.
“Hi! Are you Shawna?” my girlfriend asks, the charisma in her voice palpable and not annoying at all.
Shawna confirms her identity.
“We’re going door to door for Bernie Sanders and we’re wondering if you were going to vote in the primary this Tuesday?” my girlfriend asks.
“My husband and I are registered Republicans.”
At this point I am completely calm and do not want to throw myself off this woman’s stoop at all.
We thank Shawna for her time and go to four more houses: A Clinton supporter who kindly referred to us as “those nice Bernie people,” two empty houses, and a guy from New York who wasn’t even registered to vote in the primary.
We accomplished nothing.
We go back to Bernie HQ completely soaked.
“Oh man,” HQ leader goes. “We forgot to give you ponchos!”
They had ponchos.
I have thoughts of beating this man with his own Tevas as he says this, but they fade as he tells us we are free to go home. As we left, he calls out to us.
“Don’t forget to vote on Tuesday, man!”
I didn’t forget, man.
I didn’t forget..