We arise at 7 a.m. and get on the road bound for Omaha. In Omaha we go to Wild Oats, which proves to be an eventful grocery and “pink slip bush” expedition. The Wild Oats employees are as succulently poignant as their lengthy smoothie list: I talk with a female employee in the medicine and cosmetics section who helps me buy ear candles and tells me about how eager she is to get bush out of office. She says that she is happy to meet me because I remind her that she needs to register to vote soon, since she recently moved to Nebraska. On the next aisle, I meet Tree: a woman whose face is brimming over with laughter in the form of her curvaceous wrinkles which spiral out into thick dreadlocks that drape over fine boned shoulders. She is originally from Asheland, Oregon, comes from a Jewish background, and works at a well-known vegetarian restaurant in Omaha. She and I start talking about the upcoming election and initially she tells me that she’s going to vote for Nader, who she voted for in the last election. She tells me about a book she read called The Franklin (?) Case which is about how the Bushs were involved in satanic activities and childhood kidnappings that took place in Iowa and Washington, D.C. She tells me that sometimes she just wants to leave the country, because it is going in the wrong direction; she thinks of going to New Zealand or Canada, or packing up her four kids and driving to Mexico in her home-altered school bus. I reveal that I too want to go to New Zealand, but I also start talking about how I don’t think that all hope is lost and that I have a great deal of respect for Kerry, and I list many of the reasons why he appeals to me, including his valor in speaking out against Vietnam after coming home with three purple hearts, his views on education and healthcare, and his promise for raising minimum wages and addressing the economic issues this country is facing. I talk about Teresa’s strength and my desire to see a strong First Lady in the White House, and I use Sam’s line about how I guess Laura Bush must be strong to endure being the wife of a former cocaine addict and alcoholic. I talk about the 22 million women who didn’t vote in the last election and how crucial it is that we vote this time. I reference the Ani Difranco line that says, “People say ‘Thank you for saying all the things I never do.’ You know the thanks I get is to take all the shit from you. It’s nice that you listen; it’d be nicer if you joined in. As long as you play that game, girl, you’re never gonna win.” We talk about action. She says oh and that she’ll look into it further, and we exchange information, stories, and dreams, and I find out that she’s parked next to the truck so we walk out together to get codepink gear. In the grocery line, we have a conversation with the clerk, who tells us about “secret shoppers” who are planted by an independently contracted company to spy on employees of large corporations and see if they are doing their jobs correctly; if so, they are often awarded cash bonuses on the spot. We also talk about the current edition of Ms. magazine which appears on the cashier’s newsstand and features articles about the 22 million women who didn’t vote in the last election, 4 million of which are from Ohio. We talk with a woman in line who is all for getting bush out of office.
Tree and I walk out to the truck and find Sam talking with an older white man about US-Israel politics. From a few feet away, it appears that the man is talking for the sake of his own speech rather than to engage in healthy dialogue, and when I am close enough to hear what they are saying, my suspicions are confirmed. But, the man does become more open, and declares himself undecided by the end of his exercise in politic regurgitation. Meanwhile, I give Tree Codepink information and then she tells Sam and I that she is so glad that she met us, and that we have made a big difference in her life because she is inspired towards action. She says that she is going to ask all the customers she waits on at the restaurant if they are registered to vote. She is going to learn more about Kerry and think more about the issues, particularly, she says, because she doesn’t want her 23 year old daughter to be drafted. Then she tells us about some great, positive children’s stories. We all hug and part and then Sam and I are off with our fresh juices, library-bound. The library is pretty standard-fair, except that as I’m leaving, I talk with a man from Sudan who is under the impression that Bush is fighting a war for peace in Iraq, and wishes for a similar intervention from a “neutral” country to take place in his home country.
We pick up voter reg. forms for Iowa in Council Bluffs and drive to Atlantic to meet up with my Aunt Margaret. We meet her at Hy-vee supermarket, which is in a large U-shaped strip mall at the eastern edge of town. Margaret bawlks at the truck at first but then begins to take interest in it. She looks good- a curved sandy blonde bob and her sturdy frame atop long legs clad in sandals and socks. I instantly think of the photo taken outside the Kansas City Railroad Station circa 1970 of my mom and Margaret, looking like two string bean twins in vertical rainbow striped bell bottoms and tight turtle necks, flowing hair and thin fingers. Sam, Margaret, and I go into the Hy-vee supermarket and Sam gets tea and cookies so we can all sit in the deli and chat. I am admittedly a little nervous, and initially ask Margaret questions about her life. We talk about farming and the weather and inevitably talk about seed prices, which leads Sam and me to issues about genetically-modified agriculture. Then the conversation turns to the election and how it’s the “talk of the town around these parts.” Margaret has made up her mind to vote for Kerry, in part because she absolutely cringes at the idea of her only son Jan being drafted, and also for economic reasons- tax cuts for the rich and no help to small farmers.
Midway through our conversation a Hy-vee employee approaches us and asks Sam if it is her truck that is parked outside, and, upon receiving an affirmative response, ask her if she can move it, giving the reason that a customer has found it to be “offensive.” Sam says, “Really? Several people here have said that they love my truck.” We explain that we are customers as well and will leave when we’re finished and he leaves. He comes back ten minutes later holding a crumpled “pink slip bush” sticker and asks us if it is from us, saying it is from the women’s bathroom. Sam is brilliant. She says, “You know, we have handed out 20,000 of those stickers all over the country.” He doesn’t know how to answer so he repeats that Sam needs to move the truck. Sam rhetorically asks if the parking lot is public space, stating that parking lots are in the public domain and that she would like to see a written copy of Hy-vee’s private parking policy, since it isn’t posted outside. The man leaves.
We walk out of the supermarket and into the parking lot where we are confronted by a white middle-aged male police officer who drives up and asks if the truck is ours. Sam speaks with the officer, who tells her he was called by Hy-vee with a complaint and that she needs to move the truck. He stated that the parking lot was the private property of the grocery store. Sam says that she thought that when you open your doors to the public, that outdoor spaces are indiscriminable. She says that if it is private, it should be posted. He says, “It is posted.” “Where?” Sam asks, and he points to the Hy-vee supermarket sign atop the store. Riiiiiiight. Like that would fly in any just court of law.
By now, he is joined by a young female cop who looks interested in the truck. The male cop asks to see Sam’s driver’s license and she asks why he needs to see it and I interject into the conversation with an offer of Codepink Peaceful Police officer buttons to both of them. The male cop isn’t going to take it, but the female cop looks interested and takes one, so the male obliges, too. Then there’s this old fogey man in a big sedan who is hooting for the cop to move his car so that he can get out of the parking lot so the cop gets all distracted and forgets about Sam’s license and the whole shebang dissipates as we prepare to leave. The cop sits in his car watching us until we pull out, with Margaret in toe, and we drive down the road to K-mart to make real goodbyes.
At the K-mart parking lot, Margaret relaxes into our company and talks about being lonely out on the farm with the two men- father and son- she has lived with for thirty and twenty years, respectively. She says a lot to the tune of “men aren’t that great” and “they’re all the same” and Sam talks about how Margaret needs some great girlfriends to spend time with. Margaret is talkative and interruptive and I can tell that she doesn’t really want to leave. I think that if she could have, she would have jumped in the truck with us. Sam takes a photo of Margaret and me in front of the truck. Then Margaret asks Sam if she has family, a husband. “Hell no,” Sam says. “I’m a lesbian. I gave up husbands a long time ago.” Sam talks about love and commitment to women. Then we are all hugging and saying goodbye. Sam and I get back on the road and make one more stop in town before leaving Atlantic.
We stop at a church with a fun marquee sign and meet the woman who does the signs and discover that all these catchy little phrases urging people to study the Bible and return to Jesus are actually from the internet. Big disappointment. We report our experience at the Hy-vee to the woman and suggest that maybe she can pass on the news to the female pastor of the church. All the while, we are getting bitten by these little black (not fruit) bugs that seem to multiply exponentially, swarming in hordes to our fresh meat. We jump back in the cab of the truck and find hundreds of them there as well. It is as if Atlantic is giving us a parting plea, a message from the dark spirits inhabiting these old dwellings, calling out for help. A clearing would be good.
Back on the road, we drive to Des Moines to get the truck checked out at the Isuzu dealer. We pull off the road to Grinell, Iowa, where we find the Democratic Headquarters. A woman rushes up and says, “Is Codepink really here?” She’s excited to meet us and gives us a $20 donation for bumper stickers and info- all her dinner money! She is a librarian at the college. We get a “Christians for Kerry” sticker.
We go to a wireless café around the corner and meet Daryl, the espresso bar dude who is really interested in finding out more about Kerry. Through the course of our talking with Daryl, we learn that he is a philosophy major at Grinell and that he would like to be more politically active, but can’t find the time, which he ultimately admits is laziness. He is interested in knowing Kerry’s senatorial voting record, and understanding the truth behind Bush’s claim that Kerry went back and forth about the war in Iraq. He saw Teresa Heinz-Kerry speak at the café and says that he liked her no-nonsense presence, though he could tell she was tired from traveling and didn’t seem to have a lot to say. Sam sends him an e-mail about Kerry and she checks her e-mail while I talk with Daryl as he closes up the shop. He makes me delicious chai and remembers the no foam on Sam’s latte and sells me carob cookies at a discount and has big eyes and chiseled features. He looks like he is carved out of sandstone with malachite illuminated in afternoon sun. I think he is attractive. Sam says, “Oh, is that your type? Scrawny, hairy white boys?”
We spend the evening blogging and writing at the university and leave to find a rest stop.
