A priviledge, not a right.
Ahhh...participation in the democratic process.
I love it.
Kinda like your wedding day and Christmas when you were a kid, you wait and you wait and you wait...and it's over before you know it.
The old fart running my polling place (do you have to have any credentials to get that job?) was a complete fucktard. I don't know the process in your state, but here, we got two lines. For two tables.
At the first table, you show them your ID (they're checking the address to make sure you're voting in the correct precinct) and then you fill out a little slip of paper. And sign it. The signature thing's important.
Then you take your paper (and ID) and, based on your last name, you get into another line. At my polling station, some of the folks live within the city limits and some (like me) are county. So they separate that out to make sure that county folks aren't voting for City School Board Members and the like.
So one line for the city mouse.
Most of us, though, are country mice. So there's two lines for us - A-L and M-Z or something.
Now, these line move really. really. slow. ly. slowly. Because when you get up to the second table, they look you up in The Book. And when they find you, you sign The Book. Then you can take your little slip of paper and go into the booth.
Well, any egghead can figure out that the first line is going to move much, much faster than the second lines. And they just kept letting more and more and more people in, directing them to their appropriate second line.
And christ on a cracker! We're not in a cafeteria or a gymnasium. We're in the tiny fellowship hall of a tiny church. One room. Two tables. Seven voting machines. And about a bajillion people.
So this old guy, he keeps trying to snake the lines this way and that, b/c no one's supposed to be behind the voting machines. And eventually, you start getting cranky. Well, I started to get cranky anyway. And I said to him, "Dude, you gotta quit letting people into this line until it clears out some."
And he says to me, "Can you imagine the controversy if I told people they couldn't come in??"
And I'm like, "I didn't say to turn them away. I'm just saying, stop that other line until this one moves an inch or two."
And he says, "Only the fire department can tell me when this room is too full."
And I'm like, "Look, asshat, I'm reporting you to the election commission for being too fucking stupid to run a polling place."
OK, I didn't say that.
Because I was pretty excited about taking part in the democratic process.
And you see, standing in line, making idle conversation with the lady behind you who had no qualms about telling you who she is voting for but luckily it happens to be the same candidate as you, waiting for your thirty seconds behind the curtain, that's what it's all about.
And an hour after I arrived, I stepped into the voting machine.
I pushed one button. A red light came on.
I hit the green button labeled "VOTE" and the curtain swung open.
And I am part of history.
