chat with poll workers
enjoy your civic duty
get that cool sticker
I voted early, a couple of days ago, and it was so much fun.
Fun? You ask, your skeptical voice reverberating in my head.
It really was! Not the actual voting, per se (that part entailed much bubbling with a pencil and reminded me of taking the SAT, except when I vote I know NONE of my answers will be counted correctly. Kidding, kidding… sort of).
The fun part was talking with all of the old people who were running the polls. They were much impressed that the whole family came to vote and were even more impressed with the pouch the wee-er one rode in.
"It’s like a papoose!" they exclaimed, and after much exalted chatting about what a marvelous idea it is to be able to hold your baby close and yet still have both hands to vote, they yelled at me for a minute when I got in the wrong line, and then they let me choose my ballot.
A nice old lady entertained the wee one while the wee-er one and I disappeared behind a cardboard box to do our bubbling, and another nice old lady chastised my husband when his cell phone rang. We were praised when we remembered to fold our extra long ballots before stuffing (I mean sticking! Putting? Placing.) them in the ballot box, and then we were wished a happy afternoon.
It was very pleasant and friendly, and though I guess my political views vary greatly from most of the folks in the room, it didn’t matter. We were a brief, bi-partisan, many-aged, friendly neighborhood gathering of folks happy to be doing our best to exercise our basic rights. It was nice. And kind of heart-warming. I didn’t want to yell "Bill O’Reilly can suck it!" and run from the room, which is what I usually want to do when I find myself in a gathering of people from my county.
Yay voting. Go do it. The old people will be proud of you (and you’ll feel good, too.).