Today I proved that a simple task like voting can be made it to a mild fiasco when this responsibility is placed in the hands of one scatterbrain such as myself. You see, this year, it was a little more complicated for me as I don't have a permanent address at the moment. I did some research online, figured out my voting rights, and headed over to the local middle school. Parking was easy, which was a good sign. However, it was lunch time so the rascally newbie teens were running amuck all hyped-up on Red Bull and God knows what else. I knew immediately that the ticking time-bomb I become when faced with a bunch of 13 year-olds had already begun to click away precious seconds.
As I entered the gymasium (smelling familiarly of tater-tots), I walked up to the first sign-in table, my story about no permanent address on the tip of my tongue. A bored looking fellow in his mid-forties (by far, the youngest one there) listened as I railed off how I needed to vote, but I don't have an address right now, but if I'm not on the list, may I please have a provisional ballot? After all that, he said "what was your address again? oh, you're supposed to go to THAT table," and pointed across the room.
So, I spewed out my same story to the people at Table #2, at which point they said, "that's not OUR table, you're supposed to go over THERE," and pointed in the corner of the room to the third and final sign-in table. At this point, I was slightly flustered as there wasn't much action in the place and it seemed that everyone was watching/giggling at my confusion.
At the third table, I literally just said, "PLEASE just let me VOTE!" At LAST, these ladies were able to find my name on their list and issued me a ballot. I hurried over to the little voting-stand, and felt my attitude change as I shot down each and every one of Arnold's beloved propositions. I'm not going to lie, it felt great. I also had to pick and choose who to vote for for school board, and decide whether or not my city should still continue to allow the sale of fireworks (I said yes...fight the power!! Besides, I don't live there anymore, so they won't be settin' MY roof on fire).
After filling in my final choice, I walked my ballot back to Table #3. One woman who looked to be about 112 said hobbled over to me and said, "I'll help you figure out the ballot machine." The jack-ass in me thought her gesture was nice, but totally unnecessary...how hard could it be to slide that ballot-card into the slot? Ahem. After three tries, several angry beeps from the machine and some commotion from Table 3, the little old voter-lady said, "oh dear, you voted for three people for city council, when it says you can vote for
no more than two."
I took the walk of shame back to the Table, got a new ballot, and was practically smacked in the hand when I tried to take my old ballot with me (so I could remember what I put down). At this point, my cheeks were candy-apple red and it felt a little hot in there. I quickly filled out ballot #2, scurried over to the ballot machine, and slid it into the slot...it went in...and then...
Table #3 clapped for me. They clapped for me like they would clap for their granddaughters when they take their first shaky steps. They clapped like I was a successful, living-on-my-own, mentally-challenged ice skater that just did a triple-toe-loop in the Special Olympics.
I turned a deeper shade of red, smiled at them and high-tailed it out of there hoping
desperately this would be the last time I'd ever vote in my hometown. You bet your ass I wore my "I voted" sticker all day today. I earned it.
