Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Preparation

Of course, the liberals used the term “conservative” as an insult. They fully wanted people to think that a conservative was a social conservative because social conservatism was so unpopular in the Seattle area. Oh well. Let them use whatever phrase they wanted, Grant thought. People like Jeanie and Grant knew what they believed, even if the liberals were trying to define them as intolerant people.

Because she was so young, Jeanie realized the problems big government created. She hadn’t lived through a few decades of watching government slowly build up. She hadn’t had decades of being told how necessary all of these programs were. In her short life, she saw a snapshot of how America was.

And it had way too much government. Unsustainable amounts of government. Baby Boomers were voting themselves benefit after benefit — and handing the bill to her generation. The younger the people were, the less they bought into the big government viewpoint. But that didn’t mean that younger people were libertarians. Most were apathetic. Government was huge and stupid and that’s how it was. They would rather play video games.

Being a conservative in the Seattle area was hard. The socially intolerant connotations of the term conservative equated to being a hateful person. This meant that a conservative had to be his or her own person.

For Jeanie, this meant being herself and not giving a damn what people thought. Since she was far more libertarian than socially conservative, Jeanie partied her ass off. As she put it, “I put the ‘party’ in the ‘Republican party.’” Grant was the same way so they got along just fine.

Grant would have beers with Jeanie, and the handful of other conservatives in Olympia. Jeanie would come over to the Matson house. She didn’t have kids so she loved seeing Manda and Cole. Grant even invited her to the very special WAB Super Bowl and Fourth of July parties. She fit in perfectly into the tiny, tiny conservative social circles of Olympia.

Jeanie had a boyfriend, Jim. He was in early thirties and worked for the Department of Revenue, or “DOR” as everyone in Olympia called it. He was DOR’s database expert who kept the state tax computer system humming along. Jim was also an officer in the Washington National Guard and worked on their computers.

Jim and Grant worked out at the same time at the gym and they got to know each other well. Jim must have trusted Grant because one day, after a hard work out, he used the “R” word with Grant. It wasn’t “Republican.”

Jim looked around to make sure no one in the area could hear him. “You know, Grant, things are getting so bad there might be a revolution in this country. People won’t take all the taxes and bullying.”

Revolution? Grant had thought it but never heard anyone else say that word.

“Don’t get me wrong — I don’t want a revolution,” Jim said.

“I’m in the Guard. I will have to put anything like that down. I have an obligation to.” He paused and looked Grant right in the eye. “It’s coming.”

Jim looked away because he couldn’t handle how serious this conversation was getting. He resumed a normal conversational tone. “The things I see at DOR would blow your mind. They just make up rules and nail people for cash. It’s a racket. Unreal. I can’t believe people are just taking this. They can’t keep on getting screwed like this for long. They will rise up at some point.” Jim appeared relieved by getting this off his chest.

“I’m trying to find another job,” he whispered. “I can’t stand what DOR is doing. But I know the DOR computer systems like the back of my hand. I run them. That knowledge doesn’t transfer easily into any other job. What I do is too specialized.”

A guy who thinks there will be a revolution is the guy in charge of the state tax computer system? That seemed like a bit of a security breach.

Grant wanted to help Jim but knew he couldn’t really. “I’ll keep my ears open for you, Jim.” Then talk turned to “safe” topics like sports and celebrities that were destroying their lives.

On the way back to the office, Grant drove by Nancy Ringman, the old Auditor’s Chief of Staff. She hadn’t been immediately fired by Rick Menlow, but after a few months, she finally left the Auditor’s Office.

Nancy landed on her feet, though. Her good friend, the Governor, appointed her to be the head of the Campaign Finance Commission. That agency, commonly called the CFC, was the one that enforced the state’s campaign financial disclosure laws. This would give her the power to investigate candidates and political contributors for not reporting contributions. The CFC was famous for investigating Republicans but looking the other way at Democrats. Great, Grant thought. Nancy’s experience at the State Auditor’s Office covering up Democrats’ illegal activities makes her perfectly qualified for the CFC.

Running the CFC was about the same level of job she had at the Auditor’s Office. In fact, she was probably making more money. But that’s not what she wanted. She wanted to run the Auditor’s Office the way she wanted to run it. She didn’t want to start again in some other agency. She had been pissed for weeks.

Nancy was cold to Grant the few times he saw her in the neighborhood where they both lived. Vicious was actually a better word. One time she couldn’t hold it back and ripped into Grant about “Republicans not caring about the work we do” or something. Grant thought she might try to hit him, which was a pretty silly thought, but she seemed that mad. How weird, Grant thought. What a hateful little monster. Oh well. Grant could care less what she thought, but he was struck at how angry she was. He figured he better steer clear of her for a while.

As a government insider at the State Auditor’s Office, Grant now got to see it close up. It was even worse than he knew when he was on the outside.

Grant spent most of his day going to meetings at which nothing got done. During one all-agency meeting in the Governor’s Office about what state agencies would propose to the Legislature in the next legislative session, there was a request for suggestions to deal with the ballooning public employee pension crisis. The Governor’s legislative director, Sean Patterson, kicked it off.

“Well,” said Sean, a distinguished looking fifty-something man with silver hair and an impeccable suit, “our state and local government pension funds are $16 billion in the hole. The unions won’t budge. The Governor doesn’t want to ask any more of them. You understand.” They all did, except Grant. Well, he understood why, but he didn’t agree.

Grant blurted out, “How is this sustainable?”

Silence.

Most people in the room didn’t know who Grant was, let alone that he worked for a Republican. They assumed he was some uninformed staffer covering a meeting for his boss.

Sean, who knew that Grant was an opponent, said coolly, “The system was set up when times were better.”

“But didn’t anyone have a plan for if the good times didn’t last?” Grant asked.

More silence. Now Grant was getting some glares.

“Let me be honest, Grant,” Sean said in a mildly condescending voice. “The system wasn’t designed to last. It was temporary. It got us through some elections, OK? We all knew it wouldn’t last, but the end came quicker and harder than we thought. OK?” He said “OK” as if to say “you made your point, you little snot nose, now let’s move on to the meeting that I’m in control of.”

“Understood,” Grant said. He had to show some respect, or he’d be thrown out of the meeting. He needed to stay in that meeting to gather more intelligence; political intelligence.

The main subject of the meeting was the recent revenue shortfall. For some reason that no one in the room could understand (except Grant), raising taxes had resulted in less economic activity and therefore less tax revenue. They were baffled.