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Fieldwork: A Tale of Personal Protest [1]
['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.']
Date: 2025-03-17
Enough. This had gone on far, far too long without a response. But, of course, any response would be perilous. The only question was who would be most imperiled…
Well, after all, she thought, what are little old ladies for, anyway. Be cute. Look harmless. And make your feelings known. Send a message that people won’t soon forget…
She knew where to go. Knew what to obtain, where to obtain it. Knew, too, what its ultimate destination would be. And who would guide it there; she, herself. This wasn’t something to leave in other hands, no matter how dedicated.
As she planned, inventoried her resources, considered timing, she found herself shaking. Oh come ON, girl, this is ridiculous. You did this all the time when you were young. ALL the time. Why fear consequences now? Most of your life is behind you. Do this shining thing, or regret it for however much time you have left.
Trembling gave way to tears. Just enough to dampen her eyes. Idiot, she thought. Just get on with it!
Phase One was simple. She had scoped out the area years before. And very little had changed. So far. There might be changes coming, entirely separate from what she planned; that would happen if it happened. Perhaps her own actions might influence it; perhaps not. Either way, her choice was made.
She made contact. Was welcomed. Explained the mission to those she thought would be receptive. And astonishingly, found a welcoming ear at the very top. Good. Plans were solidified and timing was agreed. It was all up to her, now.
The days crawled past, and then it was time. Sunny, brisk; just enough breeze to cool, but not to chill. She checked her calculations again; they had to be correct, or vulnerable innocents could be harmed. And then she headed out to procure The Item.
They had what she needed; even better, they had exactly what she wanted. But it would take some time to assemble. She laughed. Time was the one thing she had in abundance now, and would have, until the day her Time came to an end. She could wait. No, no, she’d take it with her; she could manage it.
Of course, she couldn’t observe the assembly process. But she could hear chatter, the careful use of snips, someone cheerfully working with wire. Symmetry was important. Balance was important. The Item would be fragile, and only so much could be done to shield it. She was determined.
When they brought it to her for inspection and approval, she was stunned. Exactly what she had hoped for, planned for, there, in front of her, and HERS. For awhile. A short while.
Money, and a receipt, oh yes indeed a receipt, changed hands. She lifted The Item, surprised by its weight. Then moved oh so carefully out to her vehicle. Was glad, very glad, for the cargo space in the back, and for the padding materials she had thought to bring. This HAD to be stable throughout transport. Too much was riding on it — she winced at the pun.
Cautiously, so cautiously, so delicately, she maneuvered through the streets, The Item behind her, visible in her rearview mirror. She drove as if she were transporting live quail eggs, gently, gently. Destination in sight, she gasped — a vehicle the same size as her own was just leaving a parking space right in front of her goal. She pulled in smoothly, braked without a jar. Breathe, girl. Almost there, almost done.
Open the cargo bay. Carefully, carefully, don’t spoil this now, don’t drop, don’t stumble… vehicle locked, The Item securely in her arms, she approached its final destination. Through one, two, three sets of automatic doors. Down an interminable corridor. One. More. Door. And she was in!
And the guard smiled as she entered the waiting area, carrying a magnificent bouquet in red, white, and blue, half as big as she was, with a card affixed that read:
For all you do
for all of us,
Heartfelt Thanks.
As she transferred The Item to its recipients, as it was carefully inspected [per requirements] before going into a common area for the entire staff to enjoy, she held up one finger, fished in a pants pocket, handed over a receipt.
“Give this to the manager, it’s the receipt for the flowers. As agreed, they are for the entire office. I made sure that the cost, per person here, is well within the Federal guidelines for gifts, but if anyone fusses, you’ll have the receipt to prove it.”
And everyone in the waiting room of that small, local Social Security Administration office — customers and staff alike — burst into applause as she turned to go.
[END]
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