Yes, we voted today. Not that I see what the big deal is anyway, it’s not like it’s American Idol or anything. BUT I did get excited when both Heidi and I were almost BARRED from voting. Yes. Barred. The following story has several true parts:
7:15, after a quick stop to the local McTrendyBrew’s for a LARGE coffee, thank you, we arrive at the polling place and get in line. It stretches outside. The cold outside.
EVERYONE is PISSED at this lady who brought a tiny stool on which to sit while in line. They eye her with contempt. It’s an ugly scene. They’re popping out stuff like, “Oh, how smart- you brought a canvas stool,” but they’re really saying, “Hey- you’re not that fat or crippled or something. Stand like the rest of us- In the angry cold.”
A minute later someone comes out and tells us that people who fall in numbers 120 and 30something get to go to a new line. They bolt and we are left standing in a flurry of leaves in their wake. One person thumbs his nose at the rest of the line before he departs.
Not a minute later they all come back. Somebody got the digits wrong. Apparently it’s 130, not 120. 130. That’s us. I do recon, and give Heidi the signal. We make our way to bowels of democracy.
Inside it looks like a run on the savings and loan. People are arguing with the poll people, no one knows where to go and an angry mob is protecting the doorway. We push our way to the door and I threaten a lady to let us go through or I’d null her vote with my own. She hisses at me like I shoved a cross in her face steps aside.
Just inside two old men had decided to take a stand protecting their line form encroachment from the “rebel 130’s” as we were now being called. One looked like an ancient dusty version of Popeye; the other looked like his caddy (in full golf regalia). They both wore steely-eyed faces of defiance. If I was going to cast my ballot before them I was going to have to prove my worth.
“Um, excuse me. They said my number could go passed.”
Nothing.
“I say, excuse me my good man. I have an incumbent to dethrone.”
They push shoulders together in solidarity.
Fine. I shove them both aside, reveling in my youthful strength and march up to the table to vote. I thought I heard one of them start snapping like an old bamboo party torch as I pushed through but Heidi told me they closed up behind me, forcing her to mace them with Binacca. I wasn’t aware of this but sometimes the Binacca-Ben Gay combo turns old people into a combustible compound and they both poofed to dust right there.
Two less Bush supporters down, the flow of 130’s flowed like so many flowing things do. We voted. We left. We felt powerful.
