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I Went Undercover to a Trump Campaign Debate Party at Round Table Pizza, and I Foresaw the End Times
“On the Lord’s Day I was in the Spirit, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a Trump[et]” — Revelation 1:10
I regret not shaving this morning. Staring at myself in the men’s-room mirror, I fretted over my appearance: square glasses, plaid shirt. “At least you’re a white male,” my co-conspirator, a woman of color, had reassured me earlier. Yet I wondered — was my skin tone and gender expression enough to convince the Trump supporters that I was on their team, or would we be outed as imposters?
It was 10 minutes before the start of the first presidential debate, and here I was pacing in the bathroom of a south San José Round Table Pizza, the international pizzeria chain that — thank God — serves alcohol. When another Bold Italic writer tipped me off to the fact that the Santa Clara County Trump Campaign was hosting a debate-watching party at this humble suburban pizzeria, I knew this was a journalistic opportunity I couldn’t pass up.
Paranoid about drawing attention to ourselves and thus having our cover blown, we prepped for contingencies. What if they ask us about our political affiliations? “Just say you’re libertarian — they can look like anyone,” my companion suggested. Back in the bathroom, the only alteration I made to my appearance was to tuck in my shirt. Some conservative fashion tropes never die.
The Trump party was situated in the back of the Round Table, in a suburban-child’s-birthday-party-size room with glass windows and flat-screen TVs on opposite walls. Before descending into the chaos, my friend and I ordered two beers — Bud Lights, like true conservative patriots, not some hoity leftist craft-brew bullshit that would surely blow our covers—and sauntered back, trying to look poised and comfortable. A “TRUMP-PENCE” sign hung on the door to the conference room, which was wide open and unguarded. Five minutes until the debate. I took a breath before entering.
