A friend texted me this morning, and our conversation went like this:

Her: "What are you up to?"
Me: "I'm at a Republican caucus in Renton."
Her: "Whoa. I'm sorry? Is that the right response?"
Me: "Definitely."

No matter what time it is, it is always, always, too early on a Saturday morning for me to be in a sports bar in Renton, especially if the whole point is that it is teeming with Republicans. I ended up drawing the straw of going to a caucus that was not for my own district, mostly because a caucus in the "Homerun Restaurant" sounded hilarious to my colleagues. I couldn't register and caucus like a normal person; I had to hope they'd let me sit in and observe the proceedings, so I searched my closet for my most Republican clothes in an attempt to fit in.

When I arrived at the Homerun, I noticed a sign on the door of the restaurant that read: "No Sagging, Rags, Hats, Firearms. Dress code strictly enforced!!!" (Thank god I'd dressed appropriately.) On the inside, it was just a regular sports bar, but with a sign leading me upstairs to a set of smallish conference rooms. The whole place was packed with people wearing little red name tags, and there were all these young well-dressed men in white shirts and suit jackets, mostly traveling in pairs, often smiling in a zealous, I'm-about-to-proselytize sort of way. They looked pretty damn Mormon-y, but then you noticed they all had big Ron Paul buttons or stickers on their lapels.

I wandered into a conference room, not sure if I was allowed in but a little curious to see if anyone would care. They were just calling the room to order, and the fellow officiating explained what was going to happen, including that we'd be expected to sign something agreeing that we considered ourselves Republicans, because, as he said, "We don't want the Democrats in here." I tried to look innocent. He explained some more rules, asked people to give donations if they could, and reminded people to go downstairs and order food to thank the restaurant for hosting. Then he proceeded to warm up the room with a joke. "A little girl is giving away kittens by the side of the road, and this guy comes by and sees them. The kittens are very young, they don't even have their eyes open yet. He asks the girl how much they are, and she says they're free. He asks her what kind of kittens they are, and she says they're Democrats. Well, he's not interested, and he passes on by. The next week, he goes past the same place, and the girl's still there with the kittens. They're a little older now, and he asks her if they're still free, and she says yes. He asks her again what kind of kittens they are, and she says they're Republicans. He says, 'Didn't you tell me last time that they were Democrats?' And the girl says, 'Yes, but now they have their eyes open.'" ZING! Everyone laughed heartily.

I am not super-great at fake laughing. Also, I started to notice these signs that were posted everywhere that said "NO VISITORS. 10' rule." So I decided to go identify myself as a reporter to the registration people, and ask politely if I could observe the proceedings. I was told immediately and unsmilingly that the room was at capacity and they wouldn't be letting anyone back in. Blast! I headed back downstairs, where some people were now sitting in precinct groups at tables in the restaurant, busily trying to follow the procedures that caucuses require—the reading/filling out/signing of forms, the this-lady-got-here-late-can-she-still-caucus stuff.

It was all very calm, and pretty boring (I spied not a single wisdom stick). There were families with small children who were clearly bored and occasionally ran across the room; there were some awesome American flag–festooned t-shirts. I ordered coffee.

The Ron Paul folks were out in force, or at least they were the most animated and chatty. Everyone seemed to be talking about him. I listened to two Paul supporters who were convinced he was "really the only one who can siphon off" support from President Obama. One of them called Michele Bachmann "my girl." A Paul fan crowed to a group of people near the exit, "We were the majority in our precinct!" Another group nearby was in vehement agreement that "Ron Paul is the ONLY choice." "None of these people even understood their own party, or what it stands for," a man grumbled about his fellow caucusers. All the precincts whose results I found out went for Paul. I waited around to see if there was any action on the Manchurian-delegate front, but nothing weird went down.

In the women's bathroom, I saw this:

I wonder what the Republicans thought of that rainbow.

As I drove away, I got a little escape-high, that feeling you get when you realize you're finally going home from someplace really uncomfortable—high school, maybe, or an awkward family get-together. I turned up NPR as loud as I could and hopped on the freeway, where I proceeded to sit in a beastly traffic snarl for an hour.