I stood in mostly light rain on Capitol Square yesterday, my usual Saturday space at the Farmer’s Market (beneath the Colonel Heg statue). It was a kind of celebration, my 201straight day protesting the Draconian legislation brought to us by His Royal Self-interestness, Skippy Walker. I delivered my talking points of the week for the pleasure of the many progressive passersby and to the destain of a few teabaggers who weren’t cozied-up in their lake cottages or were brazen enough to show their hypocritical selves on Labor Day Weekend. I received the usual from the latter group, “Get a Job!”; “What a Joke!”; “Idiot!” and a few tea bag expletives too naughty to mention. Par for the course. Part of the work. I always gain great encouragement from the many supporters who pass by carrying flowers (“to place on the grave of the Middle Class” and “beautiful round scalli ons to cover the putrid Conservative smell in the air”).
When I departed, strolling with my 8-sided protest box, having shouted a few RE-CALLLL WALK-ERRRRs along the way, I sidled past (always polite in my wide-bodied structure) two couples and a bevy of children. With my back partially turned, in full sidle, a plastic bottle bounced off my face and ricocheted into my enclosed box. I was obviously stunned. I suffer derision every day but never outright physical abuse. With my senses somewhat revived, I yelled, “That man threw a bottle at me!”.
The man made a transparent apology while carrying a telltale Cheshire grin on his face. He quickly retreated when I, somewhat histrionically, called “Police!”. Many on-lookers were alerted. I followed him asking for his name and address but he told me to get out of his face. That’s when I acted against my policy and called him an SOB. A woman, presumably the man ‘s wife, asked for the bottle, saying “I’ll dispose of it correctly”. At least there was some civility in the family. I yelled for him to come back and demonstrate bravery for his children but with no result.
I swung my rig toward home. Afterwards, my family said I should report the incident to Madison Police. I still may but I don’t want to waste the time of our fine police department with non-productive busy work. The incident did nothing to inhibit my protest spirit, in fact, it enlivened it. I’ll be back today for 202 and on 203 I’ll carry a black-draped sign expressing my grief at what has happened to the Labor Movement in Wisconsin. But, the natives are restless. Buckle up!. We need to continue to stand strong and keep our eyes on the prize, the Recall of Scott Walker.
The Box Man of Capitol Square