Cynical Nation

I just had an odd conversation. I picked up the phone, said hello, and listened as a youngish sounding college kid haltingly read through a prepared script about how the dire circumstances of New Jersey's current education system, and how Jon Corzine's tax-laden budget (not his term) was our only hope of saving New Jersey's children from a lifetime of functional illiteracy. Did he have my permission to transfer me to my state senator so that I could leave a message in support of Corzine's budget?

"You can transfer me if you like," I said, "but I'm opposed to the budget, and I'll urge my representative to vote against it."

Silence.

"I'm waiting to be transferred. Do you need the name of my state senator?"

"I don't think I can do that," he said.

"Why not? Aren't you in favor of representative democracy in general? Or only when people agree with you?"

"I just don't think I'm allowed to do that."

"Well why don't you go find out?" I asked. "I'll wait on the line."

The youngster, to his credit, did indeed put down the phone and go consult his supervisor. He returned with a response in the negative. "Sorry," he said. He was not allowed to put me through.

"Fine, I understand," I said. "Just tell me the name of your organization once more, if you don't mind." He had blurted it out at the beginning of his sales pitch, but I didn't realize at the time that it might be worth remembering so that I could blog about it later.

"I don't know," he said.

"You what?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know who you're working for?"

"No."

"But you told me yourself at the beginning of this conversation. Don't you remember?"

Pause

"I'm not allowed to tell you who I work for."

"But that's not what you said. You said you didn't know who you worked for."

"This is a stupid conversation."

"Yes, it is."

"Maybe someone will call you later who is opposed to Corzine's budget and will agree to transfer you to your senator themselves. But I'm not allowed to do that."

"It's okay, I can use the phone book."

"Okay sir, you have a good day."

"Good luck."

That's a high-quality staff you've got there, governor. And while I don't normally make a habit of calling politicians on the phone, I am halfway tempted to call my representatives and register my opinion on Corzine's bloated, tax-the-air travesty of a budget... but only halfway.