Election Day Line Cutters
This morning, I went in to my local election station as early as possible, arriving just after 7 this morning. Turnout was unsurprisingly very high. With my cheat sheet in hand (Obama, Holtz, random city council people, No on everything except high speed rail), I waited patiently. As 7:30 came and went, I’m still standing in line. They gave a woman whose native language must have been Latin the A – L book and a large number of people who didn’t register correctly in advance, or had some issue with their registration.
This lady LOVED to fill out the little pink form that each of the people brought to her. She didn’t want to hand it to them, have them fill it out, and bring it back. She wanted to fill it out in excruciating long hand, asking them painstakingly to confirm their address and information, which usually took three or four requests — people are spaced out and not paying attention at 7:30 in the morning. As such, she sort of became the “go to” person with all of these random people cutting in line to go get a provisional registration and then marching directly to her in a huge clusterfuck.
7:45 came and went. I’m five spots back in the line and receding due to all these line cutters. If I’m not in the train station parking lot by 8, I’m not parking there and thus not making it to work on time. I’ve been here for nearly an hour and now I’m 15th in line. 18th. 20th.
So, I barked a little bit. I’m not on the list of people who flunked at registration. I’m on the list of people who are registered correctly. The white paper, where I only have to sign, take my ballot, and vote.
I cleared my throat and barked, “If you are filling out a pink provisional ballot and you were in front of me at 7:00 when I got in this line, you are cool like pumpkin pie. If you arrived after that, take your pink form and get your ass back in line like you were taught in elementary school. I’m not going to be late for work, because you couldn’t figure out how to register to vote. Thank you.”
The entire room hushed and a number of people shuffled to the back of the line. The little old lady seemed shocked. “This man is impatient to vote,” she reported. “I’ve been standing in line for an hour and there were only 15 or so people in front of me when I got here. I have things to do today and I expect adults to exhibit the same behavior in line that we expect from eight-year-olds. I’m on the good list. There.” I signed the book, snatched my ballot up, and scrambled into the booth.
One hour to vote. If I’d barked sooner, it might have taken 20 minutes. I got the second-to-last spot at the train station. <whew />
(Am I the biggest asshole in the world, or what?)
1 Comment