I Voted, Did You?

Yes I did my civic duty and voted yesterday.

Voting is the absolute scariest thing we are asked to do as American citizens. There is so much pomp and circumstance involved (also: Senior Citz who run the place) and processes. I just get so anxious every year.

But when I don't vote I have the wrath of the Councilwoman to answer to, and lo, that is worse than voting. Behold, worse than the icy cold fingers of Beelzebub.

So I stood in line with my sour candy in hand because I am still apt to puke any moment or even at any moment's moment's moment. A man with two monkeys (or were they children?) in a stroller were in line in front of me. The monkeys kept jumping in and out of the stroller, the wheels rocked back-and-forth making it so I was constantly dodging the death of my toes. Why is it that dads don't realize these things? Oops my monkeys are annoying that pale faced anxious woman who keeps digging in her purse for sour candies. Perhaps I should tell them to STOP.

I vote mothers are better with child recognizance.

A really tall bald guy in a black peacoat stood behind me. I think he was somewhat well-known in these parts but I dared not look up. Oh, in case you are thinking that it was Chup behind me, it was not. Chup doesn't vote because HE IS CHUP! But the man was reading a paperback. Good idea tall baldy famous guy!

When it was finally my turn to sign in I was asked to state my name, turn my head and cough. Voting and a physical? Anyway, I had to sign on a specific line with a pencil. As details go, there were two identical pencils on the sign-in desk. Would you believe me if I told you that I picked up the wrong pencil (hence there is a wrong and right pencil for these things) and the poll-mistress let me know she wasn't happy about that incident.

"That is my pencil and I need it to write something down left of your name." So I generously gave her back the yellow number 2 pencil and picked up the other yellow number 2 pencil and signed my humbled name.

Conflict avoided, wipe brow and carry on.

I was then given a card with a chip, while a finger pointed me to the front of the room where a nice little lady in a denim apron waved at me. For a second I thought I was at Santa's workshop. The lady escorted me to a computerized poll (fancy!) and proceeded to give me eighty instructions all at once. I mean, I get it, you've had to explain this five million times today, but hold-up, what do I do first again?

Put the card in the machine. Vote, print, back, redo, sigh, look around, machine makes noises, cast ballot, get card back, swallow, pray, give card to the man by the door, get sticker.

So much work for one lousy sticker. And that is all I got too because not one of my votes won.

Then I went out into the parking lot and heaved so hard I got a headache. A kid with a skateboard curiously watched me. Then he took off due east.

Being a (pregnant) American is so hard sometimes.

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