If you’ve reached this post via Facebook, I’m so sorry. Over the past several months, Facebook has devolved from “look at this picture of my daughter dressed up as a ballerina” to “look at this picture of Donald Trump dressed up as a Nazi.” Things will keep getting worse until Nov. 8.

“This is the angriest election ever,” people are saying. “When did we get like this? Can our country survive this much bitterness?” To these people I would say, “You clearly have not witnessed local politics in action.”

As discussed in a previous post, I learned a lot about local politics by writing for the News Sun, a small weekly paper that existed mostly to carry garage sale ads. One of the things I learned is that “government by the people” sounds really good until you meet “the people.” Some of the angriest, nuttiest things I’ve ever witnessed have happened at a City Council meeting. And no meeting I witnessed was angrier and nuttier than the Olmsted Township Trustee meeting on Feb. 12, 2009.

Olmsted Township meetings were always my favorite because I could not have chosen a better cast of characters for conflict. Olmsted Township is a small town with three trustees. At the time I was covering them, those trustees were Karen, Jim #1 and Jim #2. Karen had been a trustee for a bazillion years, hated every other township official and always kind of reminded me the evil queen from Sleeping Beauty. Jim #1 was a middle-aged firefighter and the only normal one of the bunch. Jim #2 had good intentions but could not hear a thing. He probably should not have been a trustee, but he got carried into office by Olmsted Township’s sizeable retirement community. Also, he hated Karen with a passion.

Most meetings would start like this:

Karen: “Motion to approve last meeting’s minutes.”

Jim #1: “Second the motion.”

Silence.

Jim #1: Looks at Jim #2. More silence. “Jim?”

Jim #2 did not hear the original motion, but he knows that Karen made it. Obviously, everything that Karen says must be voted down.

Jim #2: “No.”

Karen: “What?”

In addition to the original motion, Jim #2 also did not hear Karen say, “What.” All he knows is that everyone is now silent and staring at him.

Jim #2: Shakes head.

Jim #1 and Karen spend the next 20 minutes trying to figure out Jim #2’s issue. Jim #2 spends the next 20 minutes digging harder into his newfound “problem with the minutes” to keep everyone from guessing that he didn’t actually hear the motion in the first place.

And all this would happen before any of the township’s loonier citizens would stand up.

While I was covering Olmsted Township, the newly elected Jims had just discovered that the township was running a pretty sizable deficit. Karen, who had been on duty during the deficit years, used some pretty interesting math to deny that anything was wrong. According to Jim #1, the township would be out of money in two to three years. According to Karen, Jim was an idiot.

After months of losing money hand over fist, Jim #1 decided that the best way to balance the budget would be to start charging residents $15/month for garbage pickup. Karen seized this opportunity to start a riot.

I arrived to the Feb. 12 trustee meeting to find that all 15 parking spots at the tiny town hall had been taken. While I was trying to figure where I should park, someone shouted, “To the high school!”

In the high school gym, I took my place amidst the angry citizens. At 7 p.m., we started with the Pledge of Allegiance, then the mob spent the next two hours seeking “liberty and justice for all.” Jim #1 opened by explaining the town’s troubles and asking for questions and concerns about the garbage fee. Karen reminded everyone that they shouldn’t hold back.

A 90-person line materialized in front of the microphone.

“This is garbage!” the first person said.

“Please state your name for the record,” Jim #1 replied.

“THIS IS GARBAGE!!”

That was the first of many, many garbage puns for the night. Citizens complained that something “smelled fishy” about “rotten” politicians trying to pass this “trash” without putting it on the ballot. They stated that they would refuse to pay for refuse. Each garbage pun was greeted with a roar from the crowd and a thin-lipped smile from Karen. Jim #1 listened sympathetically and Jim #2 listened with his hearing aid turned off.

After two hours, the last resident finished yelling and the trustees called for a vote.

Jim #1: “Yes.”

Jim #2: “Yes.”

Karen: “No.”

“The motion passes. Residents will be charged for rubbish collection starting March 1.”

Stunned silence. Finally a guy shouted from the audience.

“That’s it?”

Silence.

“Did you hear one thing we said?”

Silence.

“We all wasted our time tonight?”

“As citizens, you have the right to voice your opinion,” Jim #1 finally explained. “But as trustees, we…”

The room erupted. People shouted horrible, horrible things. Karen folded her arms across her chest. I made eye contact with Jim #1 and smiled.

That night, I sat next to a kind of crazy old guy who attended every trustee meeting. He had stringy hair, wore a stained yellow shirt and never spoke in coherent sentences. While everyone was shouting and walking out in the middle of the meeting, the guy cackled and wheezed, “Time for a candy dancer!”

Time for a candy dancer. I have it on tape. I rewound it 50 times just to make sure that’s what he said. What does it mean? Who knows, but it was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. I tried so hard to work it into my story.

Of course, the Jims got voted out during the next election. Karen too. The garbage fee did stay, but people eventually stopped complaining about it. Olmsted Township still has money.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that people will be angry with whatever happens in November. The new president will bring new garbage. We will almost certainly have to pay for it. But no matter what happens, I am confident that it will still not be time to bring in the candy dancer.

LIFE LESSON #109

Politics stink.