Doing the Texas Two-Step

March 4 was an exciting day in Texas. The Lone Star State held its presidential primary, as did Ohio, Rhode Island, Vermont and Fantasy Island. Despite the fact that I’m running as an independent presidential candidate, I decided to participate in the Texas primary and caucus, mainly so I could say I “caucused,” which sounds delightfully dirty. Naturally, I voted “uncommitted” in the primary. I’m assuming that in this case “uncommitted” means that one is not committed to a particular candidate, and does not refer to one’s status at the local mental institution. Either way, I told the truth—sort of.

For those who don’t know, Texas has an absurdly complicated process for its Democratic primary. It has both a primary election in which 126 delegates are selected, and then a post-election caucus in which another 67 delegates are awarded, and finally a goat-roping contest and two-step dance competition to see who gets to be delegates to the state and national conventions. I, a native Texan, never knew about the caucus part until last week when I voted early in the primary. And I thought I knew everything.

It had been a warm day and was still about 67 degrees when I set out for my polling place to caucus (love that word!) at 7:00. The caucus was to begin at 7:15 p.m., or after the last primary vote was cast, whichever came later. Like an idiot I wore a t-shirt and no jacket, and temperatures quickly dropped as I stood in line with about 50 people ahead of me. I expected few people to be there, since I live on the southern edge of town, and my neighbors have never struck me as being particularly political—that is, judging from the rusting VW Beetles and washing machines that decorate their front yards. But the line grew and grew, and it seemed that perhaps 200 people were there. I couldn’t really tell after hypothermia set in and both my brain and my nipples froze.

A man about 10 years my senior stood in front of me, and we started chatting as we stared malevolently at the primary voting line, which at 7:15 still stretched far from the entrance to the dance studio that served as the polling place. I hugged myself in a vain attempt to keep warm. The man ahead of me eventually shared that he was voting for Hillary Clinton, so I punched him out and took his jacket. (Not really.) We actually had a nice chat about the strangeness of Texas politics, the weather, the pros and cons of the two Democratic candidates, whether John Edwards’ haircuts are really worth $400, and the astonishing ignorance of the current White House occupant. I told him I was running for president, and to please write in the Angry Bald Man on the general election ballot. At that point, our conversation abruptly ended.

Finally, at about 7:50, the last primary vote was cast and the caucus could begin. The line was split in two—one for Clinton and one for Obama. Since Obama is my second favorite candidate (next to me), I stood in his line. It had gotten so cold I could no longer feel my arms crossed against my chest, and my bald head longed to have its hair back. The line inched forward like a human caterpillar. A married couple with two screaming three-year-old twins stood behind me, and the children wailed, bumped repeatedly into my legs, and gnawed at the back of my knees. I was too numb to do anything about it.

The buzz of conversation was broken a few times when a few Hillary Clinton supporters who had already caucused held up a sign and did a little singsong cheer for Hillary. Then an African-American man in the line ahead of me countered by shouting, “I say ‘O,’ you say ‘bama!’” and the Obama crowd enthusiastically complied for about four repetitions. Not wanting to be outdone, I weakly croaked, “Give me an ‘A,’ give me a ‘B,’ give me an ‘M’—Angry Bald Man!” People moved quickly away from me, depriving me of some much-needed body heat.

After two hours and fifteen minutes in line, I made it to the signing table, my fingers numbly gripped the pen, and I signed the sheet for Obama. The poll worker asked if I was interested in being a delegate and I screamed “No!” and ran through the chill air back to my car.

So I can now say I caucused. And I’m pretty sure I’ll never do it again.

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