Democracy is for lemmings
Saturday, I stood in line for thirty minutes waiting to vote by absentee ballot. Two rooms were filled to capacity. I was number six. They called 381 and the woman next to me explained that she (number 480) had been waiting an hour already. After the count reached 500, it would finally loop back around to single digits, but, even once my number was called, it just meant that I would be queued up in a second line to vote after they verified my identification. I figured I had at least a two hour wait ahead of me (more likely three). My breaking point was when the man calling the numbers came into room two and announced that in forty minutes they would close a set of doors and anyone who hadn't made it into room one would not be voting. Rather than depart, most of the voters herded into room one, packing themselves like sardines in a room that smelled worse.
Myself, I figured I would just vote on Tuesday.
First, however, I had to fight my way past the woman issuing numbers. She refused to take back the green slip of paper, telling me to just wait. I explained that, even as she was mindlessly continuing to issue numbers to new arrivals, the man calling them was telling folks who had been waiting for an hour that they very likely might not get to vote. She didn't believe me. I told her that they were shutting the doors and anyone not in room one was not going to vote.
"Well get into that room then!" she exclaimed, even as she continued to hand out more numbers (I think she was back up to sixty or seventy by now).
"Look, I'm just going to come back on Tuesday..."
"Nooo... it will be so much worse!" she yelled over the din, sounding like an Adam Sandler parody of the movie Carrie.
I stood baffled, watching her delude herself and the other new arrivals into thinking this hell on earth was preferable to voting with the rest of humanity.
"Where do we get a number?" Some guy asked me, hands full of absentee ballot paperwork.
"Here," I said, shoving mine into his hands.
I walked out, nodding at the grinning gentlemen thanking everyone for voting.
Tuesday morning I woke late, showered late, dressed late and arrived at my polling place at 9:30 am.
The walk from my car and back plus the time to vote by paper ballot (making doubly certain to fill every bubble completely) took seven minutes.
Myself, I figured I would just vote on Tuesday.
First, however, I had to fight my way past the woman issuing numbers. She refused to take back the green slip of paper, telling me to just wait. I explained that, even as she was mindlessly continuing to issue numbers to new arrivals, the man calling them was telling folks who had been waiting for an hour that they very likely might not get to vote. She didn't believe me. I told her that they were shutting the doors and anyone not in room one was not going to vote.
"Well get into that room then!" she exclaimed, even as she continued to hand out more numbers (I think she was back up to sixty or seventy by now).
"Look, I'm just going to come back on Tuesday..."
"Nooo... it will be so much worse!" she yelled over the din, sounding like an Adam Sandler parody of the movie Carrie.
I stood baffled, watching her delude herself and the other new arrivals into thinking this hell on earth was preferable to voting with the rest of humanity.
"Where do we get a number?" Some guy asked me, hands full of absentee ballot paperwork.
"Here," I said, shoving mine into his hands.
I walked out, nodding at the grinning gentlemen thanking everyone for voting.
Tuesday morning I woke late, showered late, dressed late and arrived at my polling place at 9:30 am.
The walk from my car and back plus the time to vote by paper ballot (making doubly certain to fill every bubble completely) took seven minutes.