GW69 Feature
Knock, knock - who's there?
Once you’ve
canvassed, you will probably never look at
humanity in the same way again, says Charlotte
Dingle
Canvassing is
a very special experience. You get to meet
a fascinating cross-section of society,
most of whom you wouldn’t normally
encounter in an average day. The only thing
they have in common is that they are in on
a Saturday/Sunday/weekday evening, and
they’ve answered the door to you. Devoting
your spare time to trying to get strangers
to speak to you is bound to throw up some,
well, strange scenarios.
It sounds such a respectable pastime on paper. Going round, knocking on people’s doors to try and persuade them to elect you to the council. But, dear reader, canvassing can plunge you into a strange and debauched world you might previously only have dreamed of. To protect the innocent, I’m naming no names in this piece. I’m sure even some of the more eccentric doorstep exchanges actually resulted in Green votes – you never can tell...
Sometimes, when canvassing, the terms ‘knocking up’ and ‘calling card’ begin to take on a different meaning... Witness the tale of canvasser A, who treated a grinning young man to her spiel, only to be told “I don’t vote, but why don’t you come up to my flat?” Or that of canvasser B, who was scarred permanently after canvassing one particular gated community. The camera above the door meant that anyone could clearly identify her from the comfort of their flat – meaning that there was absolutely no excuse for what happened... Canvasser B rang on a few buzzers, before someone let her in without even answering the speakerphone, and then buzzed her through the next two gates as well. She knocked on his door: he opened it up, and he was stark naked. He announced, “I thought you were my wife” before slamming the door shut. Canvasser B was just in the process of scuttling away when he opened the door again (still stark naked) and added as an afterthought, “This isn’t a very good time”. Canvasser D was similarly shocked when a door was opened by an extremely drunk man who asked if he’d come round for “the threesome”.
Indeed, drink and drugs have featured heavily in many people’s canvassing experiences. Canvasser C found himself at the top of a very windy tower block, where a large Russian man answered the door. He ushered canvasser C into his front room, in which a pile of about 20 Guinness cans formed a centrepiece. An extremely stoned voice floated up from the sofa: “We are Russian Mafia, we run Hackney.” Canvasser A had just recovered from her first ordeal when she found herself greeted by a large cloud of dope smoke... followed by a young man who looked about 12. She asked to speak to (what she presumed was) his father, only to be told she was actually talking to the person she had just named. When she told him why she was there, he told her he was going to vote for the Legalise Cannabis Alliance.
It sounds such a respectable pastime on paper. Going round, knocking on people’s doors to try and persuade them to elect you to the council. But, dear reader, canvassing can plunge you into a strange and debauched world you might previously only have dreamed of. To protect the innocent, I’m naming no names in this piece. I’m sure even some of the more eccentric doorstep exchanges actually resulted in Green votes – you never can tell...
Sometimes, when canvassing, the terms ‘knocking up’ and ‘calling card’ begin to take on a different meaning... Witness the tale of canvasser A, who treated a grinning young man to her spiel, only to be told “I don’t vote, but why don’t you come up to my flat?” Or that of canvasser B, who was scarred permanently after canvassing one particular gated community. The camera above the door meant that anyone could clearly identify her from the comfort of their flat – meaning that there was absolutely no excuse for what happened... Canvasser B rang on a few buzzers, before someone let her in without even answering the speakerphone, and then buzzed her through the next two gates as well. She knocked on his door: he opened it up, and he was stark naked. He announced, “I thought you were my wife” before slamming the door shut. Canvasser B was just in the process of scuttling away when he opened the door again (still stark naked) and added as an afterthought, “This isn’t a very good time”. Canvasser D was similarly shocked when a door was opened by an extremely drunk man who asked if he’d come round for “the threesome”.
Indeed, drink and drugs have featured heavily in many people’s canvassing experiences. Canvasser C found himself at the top of a very windy tower block, where a large Russian man answered the door. He ushered canvasser C into his front room, in which a pile of about 20 Guinness cans formed a centrepiece. An extremely stoned voice floated up from the sofa: “We are Russian Mafia, we run Hackney.” Canvasser A had just recovered from her first ordeal when she found herself greeted by a large cloud of dope smoke... followed by a young man who looked about 12. She asked to speak to (what she presumed was) his father, only to be told she was actually talking to the person she had just named. When she told him why she was there, he told her he was going to vote for the Legalise Cannabis Alliance.
Canvasser A
smugly informed him that not only were LCA
not standing around there, but that the
Green Party also wanted to legalise
cannabis. The very mellow canvassee
cheekily asked, “Have you ever smoked
dope?” When Canvasser A said “Yes”, his
eyes widened, and he looked her up and down
and said “Cr-r-i-ckey!!”
Wannabe-councillors in brown corduroy don’t
smoke dope, clearly. Still not put off
canvassing, canvasser A bravely went out
again the next day. A door was opened to
her shortly before noon, and inside the
house she found about 25 drunken people
having a pedicure party.
Sometimes, people just get confused when you knock on the door. Plenty of phrases become decidedly well-worn.
“No, I am not from Greenpeace.”
“No, I can’t take your recycling for you – sorry.”
“No, I do not own a duck house, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t have made you pay for it.”
Naked Man might have taken a shine to her, but Canvasser B later found her feminine charms lost on one resident, who peered at the leaflet she had just handed him and said, “Which one are you?” Canvasser B wouldn’t have minded, but she was the only female candidate of the three. Canvasser E appeared on a voter’s doorstep only to be earnestly informed that canvasser E’s party had never done very well even with Paddy Ashdown and Charles Kennedy at the helm. Despite his reservations, however, the man took a bright green poster from Canvasser E and put it in his window.
Canvasser A (I’m starting to feel sorry for Canvasser A, aren’t you?) was invited into a Brazilian man’s house, where they had a stilted conversation about controlled parking zones... via the medium of Babel Fish. Later on, Canvasser A was standing in the stairwell of a block of flats when a small child asked, “Why are you wearing a rosette? Have you won something?” Canvasser A thought this was cool until someone later pointed out to her that green rosettes are awarded for fifth place.
There is nothing like a good canvassing session to remind you how truly glorious in its variety and unpredictability the human race is. These unique glimpses into other people’s Sunday afternoons are a precious thing. And once we have got over the shock, horror and second-hand dope smoke, we should feel privileged to have been given them. I look forward to many more years of it...
Sometimes, people just get confused when you knock on the door. Plenty of phrases become decidedly well-worn.
“No, I am not from Greenpeace.”
“No, I can’t take your recycling for you – sorry.”
“No, I do not own a duck house, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t have made you pay for it.”
Naked Man might have taken a shine to her, but Canvasser B later found her feminine charms lost on one resident, who peered at the leaflet she had just handed him and said, “Which one are you?” Canvasser B wouldn’t have minded, but she was the only female candidate of the three. Canvasser E appeared on a voter’s doorstep only to be earnestly informed that canvasser E’s party had never done very well even with Paddy Ashdown and Charles Kennedy at the helm. Despite his reservations, however, the man took a bright green poster from Canvasser E and put it in his window.
Canvasser A (I’m starting to feel sorry for Canvasser A, aren’t you?) was invited into a Brazilian man’s house, where they had a stilted conversation about controlled parking zones... via the medium of Babel Fish. Later on, Canvasser A was standing in the stairwell of a block of flats when a small child asked, “Why are you wearing a rosette? Have you won something?” Canvasser A thought this was cool until someone later pointed out to her that green rosettes are awarded for fifth place.
There is nothing like a good canvassing session to remind you how truly glorious in its variety and unpredictability the human race is. These unique glimpses into other people’s Sunday afternoons are a precious thing. And once we have got over the shock, horror and second-hand dope smoke, we should feel privileged to have been given them. I look forward to many more years of it...
▾
▾