The unlikely activist...

If ever there was an election to volunteer for, it's this one. So I drug my Chardonnay-swilling self down to the neighborhood office of the candidate I support:

"Global 'Hussein' Chameleon reporting for duty," I told the enthusiastic woman at the front desk and was led to the phone bank area, where I found a room of fellow volunteers with whom to pal around.

"You might want to dial *67 before you call so you don't pop up on caller ID."

Wise advice. Not doing that would mean updating your phone number would soon be the only change you'd believe in. The only thing "undecided" about this call list was the level of hatred they had for the candidate we were calling for. As I dialed and waited between one "I'm sorry, I don't live here" call and another, I overheard the comments around me.

"Wow, the first f-bomb of the day."

"What category do you check when somebody screams at you?"

A terrorist fist-bump out to those indefatigable, cheerful volunteers who stayed. As for me, after an hour I wondered if I could support my candidate in a less soul-crushing fashion. So I went next door to the shwag room, bought a button and clipped it onto my arugula-carrying tote bag.

Power to the people.