Saturday, February 15 at roughly 3:00 pm

“Hi, my name is Natalie. I’m a volunteer with the Pete Buttigieg presidential campaign. Do you plan on caucusing?”

The man at the door is wearing a blue baseball hat over curly gray hair.

“Well, yes, I’m going to caucus. But it’s not like it really matters when the entire country has gone to hell,” he says.

“Yeah…” I stare at him for a second, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions.

“You know you’re in a red circle,” he’s referring to the conservative cul-de-sac he lives in.

“Yeah…” I said again, though I obviously didn’t know that.

He’s mad, but not at me.

He begins venting his frustrations about the government. I agree with most things he says, but I don’t agree with the way he’s saying them nor how he talks about his conservative neighbors.

A few times he stops to ask, “Do you understand?” or “You know what I’m talking about?”

He’s not concerned about my understanding, so much as he is quizzing me on my knowledge of politics and government.

If I understand what he’s talking about, I say “yeah.” If I don’t understand what he’s talking about, I say “yeah.”

It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about Pete, but I jump into an unnatural pause anyway. “Do you mind if I tell you why I’m supporting Pete?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think it matters anyway. No democrat is going to be elected and even if they somehow did, it’s not like they’ll be able get anything done…” He continues as if I didn’t ask the question.