ArcaMax

I was inhaling a chicken sandwich and watching TikToks at the truck stop before a meeting. My car was off and the windows rolled down a crack. A lady in a car pulled up next to me. She repeatedly shouted hello as I fumbled to restart my car to roll down the window.

She was older and smiling, holding a square sandwich with one hand and the other hand on the wheel. She called out again, "Hi. How are you?"

"I'm... fine," I said, wondering if I had a flat tire.

Her smile widened, Joker-like, "Why are you following me?"

In hindsight, my reaction felt like the color of my entire mood in the wild and wacky last few days. I immediately rolled my eyes as I rolled up my windows. Not today, Satan.

She cackled and hit the gas, circling me in the lot once before peeling out. Contemplating her as I sipped my unsweetened iced tea, I had half a mind to follow her. It's weird out there for everyone.

While I did have a spike of adrenaline, I decided to sit and analyze my reaction, the weariness, and the feeling of exasperation from the moment. I knew the desire to follow her was bred slightly with a background tinged with journalism; I really did want to know more. Was I channeling the fictional FBI's Dana Scully with my blazer?

I have to be vigilant with this part of me. She's the part that would find me as the star of an episode of true crime podcast instead of sorting through any X-Files.

In the past, I would have probably laughed it off. Now, more addled with life's vinegar, I'm inclined to just... not. Which, against a sandwich- and paranoia-wielding stranger, is not the worst idea. But, as irritation foments into apathy that starts to seep into other cracks in life, I caught myself worrying about a slow dive into depression. Until I realized, you know, that it's not my style to get riled up and escalate.

A few weeks back, a heavily attended evening meeting started to spiral out of control as the meeting had been canceled for administrative reasons. It wasn't a meeting I needed to attend, but I had an interest in it because I had been working with the board on restarting the program after the previous staff liaison had left. Residents, soaked in a bit of grandstanding but also some rightful concerns, filled the room.

There's always some theatrics in politics, and at one point, I had a finger wagged in my direction. I continued to let them speak. At the end, a board member told me, "I need to learn how to do a poker face."

This wasn't my place to stand and speak; this was a place for their concerns to be heard. My work was done the day before at a meeting with the board's chair, staff, and city manager to plot a path forward. It was a meeting that none of the orators, filled with indignation and bluster, had attended. Nor did they attend the work session of the same group this week. But I did.

Enemies would prefer that you become disengaged. It's a wrench from their toolbox they're aiming to throw at your head. There's resistance to watching, learning, and knowing more about yourself, the situation, and the path forward.

Trudging along with the overlooked and underwhelming work is what I do. Back in the car, I licked the salt from the fries from my fingers, tapped the crumbs from the blazer, and started the car to go to another meeting.

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Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To find out more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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