Diary of a Canvasser, part the introduction

Erin Haick

You've seen them around - standing on corners in ill-fitting t-shirts, clutching a clipboard, and asking every passer-by, "are you registered to vote/can you sign my petition/care to donate some money to X group?" And even though they're doing good work - long hours, crappy pay, and that special joy of watching people cross the street to avoid you - I at least was always torn between admiration for a tough job, and gratitude that I didn't have to do it.

Which is why I went ahead and became a canvasser. Or, excuse me, "field organizer."

I work for the SEIU's Heroes Program. We're called that initially-dorky name because most people took leaves of absence from their jobs, and some are from out of state, thus really earning the name. Anyone who leaves job, home, and family for six months to knock on doors every night is entitled to whatever title they want. I, however, am just a politically-minded shmuck so desperate to leave the former job that I applied for even a three-month temp job, just as long as I could do something worthwhile and not have to hear about the waist sizes of contestants on the Bachlorette. Strangely enough, SEIU hired me, and now here I am, working out of a cavernous old swim-suit factory and knocking on 80+ doors a night while collecting voter registrations.

The qualities useful in a canvasser include:
-timeliness
-tolerance for chaos
-tolerance for dehydration, and the related skill of packing between five and seven pounds of water around on your back
-a certain fearlessness that lies between confidence and recklessness, in that you're knocking on people's doors for five hours a night, and literally anything could be behind that door
-a certain skill with rejection

Strangely enough, and quite opposed to my assumption, most people don't slam the door (at least, not at this stage of the game). Most people, once you've made it clear that you want neither money or signature, are amenable to listening to the shpeel, answering one or two questions, and calling it good. I haven't personally been yelled at, but this evening Roger had a 67-year-old man threaten to break his legs.

By Erin Haick Aug. 30, 2004