Brattleboro, Vermont Selectboard Un-Candidate #22

    I picked up some meat at Hannaford and saw two managers walking by. I had talked to one about the Putney Road widening but without a map. I walked over and showed them the map, asking if they were interested in seeing how the widening would affect their land. "It's not our land. We lease it," the other manager said. I am quoting as accurately as I can.
     "Then would you like to see how your leased land will be affected," I asked.
     At another point, I got a "yeah, yeah, yeah," and almost mimicked that back, but bit my tongue. But the manager warmed to the task, looked closely at the map, understanding it better than me, and said, "This is not good. It comes way into our parking lot, almost up to the store. I think it's going to be dangerous for the pedestrians - our customers- walking from and to their vehicles. I see what they're trying to do with this road widening; they're trying to make it so you don't have to go off the road (into the bike lane) to get around vehicles making a left turn."
     He got the other manager to take some pictures. "I want to send these to corporate and to the owner. I don't think they'll be happy with this."
     "I don't want to see businesses suffer," I said. "Please keep me in the loop."
     "I will. I have your card."
     Twice, during our conversation, he shook my hand.
     As I drove away, my thoughts turned back to the Reformer letter to the editor.
I finally found some humor to it, "It took six of them to write a letter," I mused.
Still, I was worried about attending the meeting. It was extra hard going to the meeting and facing David Schoales after I wrote the Civil Rights Commission about his discrimination against the other races in preferring blacks for employment. I knew mentally that he wouldn't dare say anything to me because then he'd really be in trouble with the Civil Rights Commission when I reported that back to it, but once I got to the board meeting, fear paralyzed reason. I decided I'd steel myself in any confrontation he brought and simply say, " Tough s____ ! You said it, not me." But nothing happened at the meeting besides David, it seemed to me, being nicer and more engaged.
     Now I had to steel myself for six or so strident racists who were inviting their friends to come too. In addition to trying to get through four hours of phobic hell! Poor me! I delved into the pages of cognitive therapy and came up with an idea. There was a part of me that was an unafraid watcher even when I was panicky. He wasn't easy to access, but he was there. In the selectboard meeting, I would try to go to this fearless overwatcher. I would even think of him as Christopher Kyle, the Seal and the American Sniper. This is where I would try to be as much as possible. With the Seal.
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major and winner of three degrees in spite of my phobias. I can walk through hell!