Monday, May 24th, 2010

The Summer I Spent Committing Forgery For A Terrible Cause That Is Ruining The World

THE SUMMER OF OUR OILY DISCONTENTSummer: No season better symbolizes the feeling of freedom and the sense of possibility for which we long throughout the rest of the year. With Memorial Day-the unofficial beginning of Summer 2010-coming on Monday, we asked a number of folks to reflect on the season. We'll be publishing their thoughts throughout the week. Hooray, here comes summer!

I was seventeen, and I needed a job. I already worked at Baskin Robbins, but could only manage to get on the schedule for a pointless four hours per week, and I needed to keep up with my friends. So I turned to the classified section of my local paper, the Tallahassee Democrat, where I found an ad soliciting people to circulate petitions for money. It had some ridiculous claim like "Make up to $100 per hour!" I was always a sucker for a get-rich-quick scheme, so I got my mom to drive me across town to an office park for a group interview. The "interview" was really a training session, because we were only getting paid by the signature and the organizers didn't care who we were.

The people in charge were a sloppy-looking middle-aged couple who smelled like stale cigarettes back when that was a weird smell, and drove a huge old busted sedan. Neither of them looked like they made $100 per hour. By depressing fluorescent office light, they went over the petition. It consisted of two parts: one was for a proposition so dull that I don't even remember it. A registered voter's signature on this petition would garner me fifty cents. The second part, though, was for offshore drilling. Specifically: in favor of offshore drilling. This precious second signature would pay out $1.50. The petitions were due back in three weeks.

This is how the female half of the organizer couple told us to sell it: "This petition is just to put the issue on the ballot so that the people can vote for or against it. Otherwise, the politicians will just decide for themselves." Everyone in the room nodded their heads.

I was seventeen, and I was an idiot, but I wasn't THAT stupid. I knew that that was not how ballot measures worked, but by then I was already mentally tallying the registered voters I knew and imagining their heads as two shiny new dollar bills.

When I came out of the session an hour later, my mom was waiting in the parking lot. She could already tell I was excited and that I'd "gotten" the "job," because I was holding a box containing hundreds of petitions and two pathetic little American flags. She furrowed her brow and asked if I had told them I was under eighteen. "Yep!" I said. "They said that was fine!" My mom pursed her lips in a way that communicated that she was unsure of what this would mean for her as my personal chauffeur, and also that this was a strange job for a seventeen-year-old.

When we got home, I unpacked the petitions and ran around the house stockpiling pens. After dinner, I sat with my parents at the kitchen table and explained the petition. I tried to play dumb about the political goals of the ballot measures, but unfortunately they read the fine print. "This is for offshore drilling, Lindsay!" my mom exclaimed. "We're not signing a petition for offshore drilling."

I tried to give them the "This is just to put it before the people!" line but of course they weren't buying it. I then tried a selling tactic I'd thought of all by myself on the way home: "It's for OFFSHORE drilling, though. Not on the shore. Off the shore, far away from the shore." As if there were only two kinds of drilling: literally on the beach, or way way out in the middle of the ocean in international who-cares waters.

It didn't work. They agreed to sign the boring part of the petition but refused to sign the second on moral principle, and gave me $3 to make up for the money I'd lost to their pesky integrity. My mom suggested that I throw away the second part of the petition altogether and just get people to sign the first. "Do you want our beaches to be like Louisiana's? Or Mississippi's? Or Alabama's? Offshore drilling has completely ruined their beaches." But I was seventeen, and the idea that anything I did could have actual consequences was completely alien to me.

And so the first thing I did in my new capacity as petitioner was go up to my room and forge my parents' signatures on the second part of each of their petitions. This was a job for which I was already overqualified from years of permission slips and report cards.

The next Saturday, as suggested by the organizers, I went to the nearest post office, where I set up the family card table, decorated it with the American flags, and stocked it with clipboards to which I'd attached pens with string and tape. "Sign the Petition Here!" said my handmade intentionally vague poster, hanging from the card table, in red and blue marker. "Let your voice be heard!"

The idea was that people who go to the post office are all registered voters-the only type of person whose signature would count (and the organizers assured us they would be looking them all up.) I'm not sure where they got this idea, because the only type of people I was running into were people who were running an annoying payoff-free errand and didn't have time to sign my petition. The only thing that worked in my favor was the fact that if you see someone holding a clipboard and you're in a hurry and they say "Excuse me, are you a registered voter?" the automatic go-away answer is "Yes." So I could trap a few by replying "Great!" The few people who did take the time to hear me out usually got alarmed at the offshore drilling part at first (I was careful to emphasize the first syllable: "OFF-shore drilling"), but most accepted my line and signed it anyway. After all, they'd already gotten that far. May as well make this kid happy.

After a day largely full of frustrating rejection, my mom picked me up. My petition tally was dismally in the single digits.

18 Comments / Post A Comment

HiredGoons (#603)

One of my least favorite memories of going to the beach in Los Angeles is that you can literally see these things from offshore. Quite closely.

Also this was Dave Bry's best piece yet.

I'm not sorry!

HiredGoons (#603)

No, I really enjoyed this. Just poking a little jab.


HiredGoons (#603)

Just poking fun, very much enjoyed.

I imagine your Flick-montage being set to 'Busted' by Ray Charles.

HiredGoons (#603)

^(blame the repeat on the server)

johnpseudonym (#1,452)

Dairy Queen kicks Baskin Robbins' ass.

Eureka Street (#1,349)

The Summer I Spent Committing Forgery For A Terrible Cause That Is Ruining The World

Speaking of Trig, this is what the Alaskan nurse who signed his birth certificate will title her tell-all.

cherrispryte (#444)

Love it.

Bittersweet (#765)

Not to be all righteously religious and all, but deciding not to have an abortion is not the same as deciding not to forge names of churchgoers on a petition.

And considering all the things you could credibly accuse Sarah Palin of, going after her son seems like kind of a low blow.

katiechasm (#163)

Everything I've read today has either been a Lost spoiler or a painful reminder that I don't have a job.

:( forever,
a teenager.

zidaane (#373)

There should be an 'iced' trend for BP Oil exec's where they have to chug a quart of 10w-40 every time
someone springs a dead pelican on them.

(I liked this first story!)

billymanes (#5,121)

ah, to think i knew you then! I was just up the road at Turtles.

Holy shit! Totally! I really wanted a job at Turtles, too. You could have prevented this whole thing.

billymanes (#5,121)

I should have done more!

MikeBarthel (#1,884)

This is great!

As a grad student, I am currently looking for summer work and it is extremely depressing. "Summer jobs for the environment!" = "knock on doors for PIRG!" I do wish nonprofits could figure a way to get their grunt workers without disillusioning young people. Then again, most nonprofits are kinda worthless, so six of one.

melis (#1,854)

Do you mean to imply that stale cigarette smoke is no longer a weird smell? If so, why? This is the only part that is bothering me.

MikeBarthel (#1,884)

I think it's because you used to be able to smoke inside, so smokers wouldn't smell noticeably like previously-smoked cigarettes either because the room itself would smell more strongly of cigarettes or because the smoker would be able to smoke whenever. Whereas now, you go somewhere else to smoke, your clothes get smoky, and then you return to a non-smoky environment, smelling. The first time I remember smelling this smell with any consistency was when I rode the bus down to Pennsylvania a lot, for example. People would smoke at rest stops and then come back into the smoke-free bus and smell stale.

It's amazing how oil is so valuable building a gigantic floating platform in thousands of feet of water–and then drilling below the sea floor thousands more–is not only economically feasible but extremely profitable. It also emphasizes how thinly stretched onshore oil supplies are (somewhat excluding oil imports which have other issues). [obligatory and probably annoying call by me to support alternative energy research]

Aside: I'm glad you were a teenager when you did this. It's kind of f—ed up :)

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