Like I said a few days ago, this first week of A-Z blogging worked out perfectly. So F is for Flash Fiction, and here's one for you. Claire Legrand has been posting a lot about The West Wing on Twitter and her blog, so between that and the Republican primary race, I've been thinking a lot about politics. This story reminds me a little of Primary Colors for some reason. Hope you enjoy.
“Listen, I just don’t care. Get it done, and get it done now.”
I bristled at the tone in his voice, but there was nothing I could say. He was the campaign manager, and I was nothing but a lowly intern. It didn’t matter to anyone else that I had an IQ of over 150 and I was a chess grandmaster. It didn’t matter that I could out-strategize Bobby freaking Fischer. Here, I was the low man on the totem pole.
Buckley’s strategy was stupid, plain and simple. But a hundred years ago, he’d gotten some dark horse candidate elected President out of Who-Gives-a-Damn, Maine, and now he was hailed as the campaign hero of the 21st century. After all, who cared that he’d won less than 12% of the elections since then?
So I had 100,000 copies made of our candidate’s brochure, which was complete with his high school prom picture and a testimonial from the guy who owned the corner store when he’d been a kid. Buckley insisted this would “humanize” him, make him more relatable to the common man. That was bullshit, of course. Our candidate was an inheritance millionaire out of Orange County, California. The only thing that would make him relatable to the common man was if the common man suddenly won the lottery.
Like I said, I’m the low man on the totem pole, so no one listens to me. But Buckley’s going to wish he had when we lose by 20 points or more.