Special Elections and Chicken Salad - Part of the Mac Smith Chronicles

With so many people having been fixated on the recent special election for the US Senate in Alabama, I am actually amazed more people didn’t approach me regarding the matter. Everyone knows me in town. They know my penchant for politics and for pointing out where both modern liberals and conservatives get it horribly wrong.

The following happened on the day of the aforementioned special election. Names have been changed, the reasons should be obvious: Bryce Jackson-Author

I saw him approach before he was even in my store.

He has been a regular customer of mine through the last three establishments I’ve worked for. Short, quiet and with a soft approach, he is quite possibly the least intimidating person I have ever seen.

I was grabbing pizzas as they came off the line, getting them ready for the table. His order buzzed through to my monitor; chicken salad wrap on white with romain and tomatoes. Then he spoke up.

Hey, Mac!

What’s up, man? (I don’t know his name, even after six years – I suck!)

How do you feel about the race in Alabama?

I could tell he was looking for a straight up answer; Jones or Moore.

But my creative juices started to flow. How could I convey that both choices are horrible for liberty and that (character aside) these two candidates are the same?

I knew I had to be articulate and present my argument in an intelligent fashion.

They’re a couple of big government statists, they both suck!!!

Damn it! I screwed that one up. And now he was just staring at me, waiting for me to elaborate. Well, fuck it! Might as well just go for it.

You got one that will grow the government through taxes and another through . . . well . . . Trump’s agenda. That’s not what we need right now.

He seemed half-pleased. I imagine he was thinking “at least he isn’t an out-right Moore supporter”. I decided to continue.

Who do you like in the race, sir?

He took a deep breath and paused. He was choosing his words . . . carefully!

Well, there are some disturbing parts of Moore’s personality.

I wondered what he meant. The sex abuse scandal? His terribly homophobic and misogynistic remarks of the past? I decided to get right to the point. I didn’t have time to screw around.

Because of the sex stuff?


I was puzzled. Why were so many focused solely on the actions of one deep-south, old-timey Judge – but not the actions of numerous Democrats accused of the same? I decided to press him.

But then we have a president who purports to have overseen one of our most successful economic times and he diddled his intern. The left lauds him.

Now he seemed puzzled. His face turned serious.

The left has never celebrated him. And the economy? THAT is all due to policies from Obama’s administration!

I stopped dead. He thinks I am talking about Trump. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. The “intern” remark alone should have fleshed out who I was actually talking about. I straightened my face.

You know I am talking about Bill Clinton, who is – in fact – a sex offender . . . right?

The look of “oh shit” that came over his face was visibly obvious.

Oh right, that . . .

I swooped in, hoping to capitalize.

Just saying man. I mean, Moore is a horrible person and all but the real problem is how much these men – once made powerful – feel they can get away with.

His face seemed to be . . . accepting! Like an honorable submission in a hard-fought mixed martial arts fight. He nodded.

Yeah, you’re right. But at least the Democrats flushed out theirs.

No they didn’t, Franken left. (I forgot about Conyers . . . oops!)

But he still left. He admitted he was wrong.

He was, and I am glad he did. It allows me to give him a smidge more respect than I give Moore or Trump.

But with the Democrats numbers dwindling, how do we fight this new agenda?

But is that how we should be looking at it?

Self-realization rushed over his face. I think this is where he silently admitted to himself, his bias. He spoke up again.

Probably not. But we need people to oppose this new Republican Party.

Doesn’t it say something that the Democrats can’t manage to put up a decent candidate against a GOP which is – by far – the worst version EVER!

He nodded again. He seemed sad. Now I felt bad.

But hey man, at least Jones isn’t a snapper (child molester).

He smiled.

You got that right.

Sweet. I made him feel better. Granted, it was lowest hanging fruit (picking on a social conservative), but I’ll take it.

What we really need, is to either have political parties that more accurately represent the majority of Americans OR simply get rid of the parties all together.

He nodded.

So then what do we do? Until then anyway, what do we do to find a decent compromise?

Yes! Now this guy is thinking. Like I had really drove the point home. That both of these walking diaper stains were terrible (along with most politicians in Washington).

And so we spoke. I told him of Republicans like Rand Paul and Justin Amash. About Democrats that hold some overlap with individual liberty like Jerod Polis and Tulsi Gabbard.

He seemed pleased. Like I had given him something to think about. I handed him his order.

Thanks, Mac. Have a good day.

You as well brother. Don’t let this shit get you down either.

He nodded and waived as he walked towards the register.

I hoped I’d changed his mind. Or at least altered his thinking. Made him realize that politics isn’t black and white. It’s not a coin.

I hoped that for a brief moment, I altered the way he viewed politics.

As I wiped off surfaces, I looked out across the store. Through the window I could see Little Dave approaching; waddling his fat ass slowly towards the entrance like a slovenly turtle.

“Ugh” I thought to myself. I always hated the final hour of my shift.

At least I “usually” did . . . today I was rather chipper though.

As Dave lumbered in, his bulbous frame swaying like the top of a dead tree in the wind, I looked out the window and saw the customer. He looked like he was thinking.

Was it – perhaps – thoughts of our conversation?

He seemed so peaceful. In six years I had never seen that look on his face before. Shit! Dave is here.

What are you so happy about?

The question shook me.

What the fuck are you talking about?

As I was walking up, you were looking off into space and then you smiled. Did you get a peak up Annabelle’s skirt again?

I could see the customers car fading into the distance on Route 4. As I wondered if he was still considering my words, I felt myself smile again. I turned towards Dave.

Damn right man, it was awesome!


Author: Bryce Jackson

I write words. Pretty words.

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