Canvassing door-to-door can occasionally be entertaining.
Take the guy — please take the guy — that we met on a Ward 9 doorstep who leaned on his doorpost and said as much as he would like to discuss municipal issues, he had “drunk a little too much.”
When we tried to escape, he noticed my English accent.
“I’m a performer…Wanna hear my English accent?” he asked before launching into his Cockney imitation.
“Smashing,” I said, “but we have to go…”
“Wanna hear my deep-South accent?” he asked.
“Why not,” laughed my triple-A canvasser, Sue.
“Y’all do a great deep-South accent,” I said minutes later as we tried to stay on schedule and move on to the next house.
“I’m still practicing my Irish accent…it’s tricky,” he said, breaking out the blarney.
“Got to go,” we insisted.
It took us about an hour to go up his side of the street and return down the opposite side but he appeared across the road as we tried to discuss serious issues with another voter.
“’’Owyadoin’ me ole mate?” he hollered as we fled the street.