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03/02/2004 Entry: "The Long Road To Democracy."

It was just after six at work, and since I hadn't had a chance last night to read them, I pulled out my Voter Information booklets and started to go through the ballot measures. I was a little anxious that I wouldn't have time to read through all the arguments before the polls closed at eight. After ten minutes I remembered that, like always, most of the measures on the local ballot are total crap and ploughed through pretty quickly, marking my sample ballot as I went. After a short phone call with the Boyfriend, off I went to vote.

I walked down Harrison for a few blocks, feeling hungry and tired and still woozy from this cold. When my head started to ache, I decided to catch the bus there. Now, the 12 goes near my house, but the 9 would take me to the front of the polling place. After a long wait, at 6:50pm, a 9 rolled up; I got on board, put my earphones in, and got ready to pull the cord in about ten blocks.

It wasn't until the bus was on the freeway that I realized I had boarded the 9x by mistake. I've never been on the Express before; they're not kidding. I would see landmarks pass by, and I'd figure, OK, when we exit I'll be close to the (whatever) and can catch the bus back. Then we'd pass more landmarks. Then we'd pass neighborhoods I didn't recognize. Then, finally, we pulled off about four miles away from my polling place, in what is not a great neighborhood but not one of our worst, either. I ran across the street to try to catch the driver of an inbound 9, who probably laughed at the freak in black shrieking and flapping his arms in front of oncoming traffic, diesel bus fumes fanning into his face in the wake of the bus. If it weren't so funny I'd have cried. I checked my watch; it was 7:05.

"Evening service every fifteen minutes" my ass. Twenty-five minutes later, I caught the local 9 back towards downtown, watching the minutes tick down on the clock on the bus. Thankfully traffic was light through Potrero Hill, and I leapt off the bus a block closer than the 12 would have put me. I walked briskly up to the polling place, reminding myself I have plenty of time don't run what are you doing why are you running I'm not running I'm just walking at my usual fast pace no you're not you're running you have plenty of time don't worry I'm not worrying but if Best Buy has a problem that I'm cutting through their parking lot right now then they can suck it. Breathless, I arrived at the top of the stairs and a poll worker asked me if I was there to vote.

I was triumphant. "Yes, I am."

"Well I'm sorry, we're closed."

My face fell. "WHAT?"

"I'm kidding."

Despite the look I gave her, she did not die right there. I feel cheated. I don't care about the democratic process, my civic duty or even the damn "I voted" sticker. I wanted to vote her dead. Next year I'm sponsoring a Constitutional Amendment banning sarcastic poll workers.

That is, assuming I don't get on the wrong bus again. "I'm sorry, Sir, but you're not registered to vote in the State of Nevada." Can I blame the cold medicine even if I hadn't taken any?

Replies: One Comment

I wasn't a person who had violent thoughts.

Now, after almost 4 years of evil, I am now wishing people dead much like yourself.

I scare myself sometimes.

Posted by Nala @ 03/03/2004 07:21 AM PST

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