By Cherimie Crane Weatherford
Like much of the world, my mind was caught up in a whirlwind over the election. The uncertainty felt as heavy and oppressive as the humidity in the South.
After accidentally watching the news, pundits convinced me that the world would end no matter the outcome. Election Tuesday would undoubtedly turn into a disastrous Wednesday, with our hopes for a less divided country crashing down around us.
With bated breath, I stayed awake an entire hour past my excruciatingly mature bedtime of 9 p.m. As tempting as it was to continue propping one eye open at the time while nervously devouring anything with an unhealthy caloric content, Mr. Sandman proved a formidable opponent.
Wednesday arrived much like any other Wednesday, with slightly more impact than most. Wednesday is often considered the less adventurous of the weekdays, like the middle child. It was not as mold-breaking as Monday but far less entertaining than Friday.
However, the Wednesday after election day has its moment to shine. Instead of the standard “Hump Day” references, this day brings more than water cooler discussions.
Raised in the Deep South, second only to talking back to your mother, discussing politics is as acceptable as pretending football is just a sport. Voting is as personal as the sins we swear we don’t commit.
Peacefully navigating the post-election public is akin to ridding your back porch of mosquitoes. You can use whatever tool you have, but it won’t solve the problem. November 6, regardless of the outcome, was sure to be a minefield of missteps.
Then it happened. The one thing 99% of South Carolina residents didn’t see coming the day after an election gave us all something to talk about other than who hates who. Forty-three Rhesus macaque monkeys escaped a research center in Yemassee, S.C.
Nothing can change a subject like the opportunity to catch a freedom-fighting monkey. Instead of debating red versus blue, with the seemingly accidental swing of a door, we find ourselves divided differently.
Some of us cheer our distant relatives on, while others are determined to detain the tiny anarchists; however, we all can’t help but snicker at least a little. On November 5, we scream Republicans or Democrats. On November 6, we scream, “run, monkey run!” or notify the authorities immediately. Of all the things I had on my list of things to fear on November 6, monkeys weren’t one.
No political views have been implied or insulted. Before you prepare to respond with criticism of this article or its author, please understand that its purpose is to lighten a heavy atmosphere, promote common ground among the divided, and boldly proclaim the importance of freedom for all primates.
Cherimie Weatherford is a long-time real estate broker, small business owner, wife and mom in beautiful Beaufort. She is the Director of Operations and Programs for the Freedman Arts District.
