Hunting And Election After Action Report: Part 3: Wombats And Schedules

[Note: my hunting partner is an honorable fellow for whom I have considerable respect. He has no idea I write a blog and he deserves every bit of privacy I can offer. I don’t want him unfairly involved in my petty bullshit literary endeavors. I mention him in passing only to flesh out the story. Out of respect for his privacy, I’ve changed any details that might identify him (or our hunting spot). For example, his name in this story is Beetroot McTavish and I’ll say we were hunting deer even though we were hunting wombats. I’m pretty sure no human has ever been called Beetroot and wombats taste great with a side of fries.]

So, where was I? Oh yeah, the furnace was out of oil, my truck was on it’s spare, the TV was broke, and my HAM radio was not fully assembled. That’s not too bad. There are little sacrifices one makes when they’re in a recession. (You know what it is when you’re in a recession but DC changes the definition of “recession”? It’s a fucking recession because changing definitions doesn’t change reality. Suck it Orwell!)

I needed a break, I’d planned for this hunt and tilting at windmills over being an election judge had gone for naught. I figured that was a gold plated all-clear signal by the eternal. Time to hang out with nature!

I left Mrs. Curmudgeon with a warm fire in the woodstove and a full box of wood nearby. Then I tanked up on the most expensive diesel I’ve ever purchased and rolled out. A few days later I was hunkered under a pine when my cell phone vibrated. (I knew I should have left it in the truck!)

After months of rejection, I’d been called to be an election judge. I barked into the phone “you gotta’ be shitting me”, but it was true. My small irrelevant county has a million little old ladies that do the election thing and it sounded like they wouldn’t need me until someone died. Fortunately, nobody died but someone was on chemo. I had promised, to the darkness near my campfire, that I would come if called. So I agreed and hung up.

What now with the logistics? Election judges are occupied the entire voting day. This meant I had to somehow vote absentee at the last minute and definitely do it before the day in question. Then I had to get my ass to the place at the time.

Why? Because if honest people do nothing then honest people will have done nothing.

Even if it amounts to nothing… even if we all wind up in concentration camps after Fauchi has become a robot overlord that shouts “I am science” and nukes Baltimore… I’ll know I did the right thing. If you do nothing but sit at home bitching about things, you will have done nothing but bitch.

Unfortunately, I was busy with the entirely unrelated endeavor of hunting. How the hell was I going to accomplish both? I decided to hunt when I could hunt and bail when time was up. This event’s timing, like so many in 2022, was uncertain, rushed, and decided in realms I don’t’ control.

Stay tuned…