Now that the primary is over, does it matter that, once again, I didn't vote for the precinct captains or whatever? They have separate categories for guys and girls, and you have to vote for nine of each, but there weren't even nine people running. What's the deal? Do I care?
Sorry, Sarah; I didn't see you there—I was just putting the finishing touches on my latest moneymaking scheme, a line of all-organic perineum-care products called "Taint Natural."
But you're right—every two years, members of the major political parties open their ballots, wonder briefly what a precinct committee person (PCP) is, and then shrug and go back to either (a) picketing abortion clinics or (b) smoking pot, depending on which party they registered with.
PCPs function as sort of uber-volunteers, canvassing, participating in party events and fundraisers, and representing their precinct at the county political party central committee.
The position also affords people who aren't incompetent or insane (and even some who are!) the opportunity to rise through the ranks and influence the direction of the party.
There are almost always more positions than candidates, so just get a couple of friends to write you in (Oregon law does require a minimum of three votes to be elected), and boom, you're a party insider with an ax to grind. All you Bernie bros bitching that the party is in the tank for Hillary? Just show up, and you can be the party.
Sure, being a precinct committee person is so uncool it makes running for student council look like joining the Velvet Underground—but you could make it cool. Get people to actually pay attention to the democratic process, and you could save the planet.
You hear that, popular girls? Influencer teens? Disdainful baristas? This is your moment. Pick a party, seize the reins of power, and rule the world! It'll be just like high school.
QUESTIONS? Send them to firstname.lastname@example.org.