?0?0 V0Te

 

In this… whatever day… of this pandemic in the year 2020, I participated in the ritual known as voting.

I got my photo ID and walked down the street to my elementary school as I have for the past 40 years.

This year is historic they say. Seemed the same to me.

Like everyone else I’d gotten the junk mail and have not been able to avoid the constant chatter online. Thinning out much of the nonsense on ‘social media’ leaving the extremes for balance. Trying to listen to the debates and rallies until the repetition put me to sleep.

Whatever your belief, like your faith, I used my cognition to make my decision some time ago.

So the grounds looks somewhat the same as the last time I voted here. Signs in the grass on the side of the walkway. People standing in the cool air handing out free propaganda but couldn’t be heard under the mask.

As I walked up to the school steps there were a few new players.

Behind the sandbag bunkers were the guys in camo. All those guns certainly made me feel safe. The BLM group on one side of the walkway yelling at the red hats on the other side yelling back insured my pace was quickened.

The bands playing at the same time created a John Cage atmosphere. The cheerleaders were a nice touch but that is just I.

Once inside the hallowed halls, we the people, were directed to the cafeteria instead of the auditorium.

The little itty-bitty tables and the little itty-bitty chairs had all been pushed aside to make room for the long line that wasn’t there. For forty years, we the people, were directed to the auditorium stage but these are different times.

I remembered my name and address and the lady behind the plastic didn’t touch my ID. How she knew I was who I said I was is beyond me but my name appeared on her little computer screen and she printed out a receipt to pass onto the next person.

Moving on (at a safe acceptable social distance) I got a manila folder that held a secret paper ballot within. I also got a pen.

Now wait a minute.

No one said anything about bringing a pen.

Back in the day when I attended this schooling place, I was always told to bring a pen (black or blue preferred, no fountain pens) or pencil (#2 only) when I took a test here. This is sort of a test but there was no notification of bringing a pen?

I take a pen and move to a little table with black visors overseen by a woman with a squirt bottle. Like a good obedient kitty, I open my folder and take out my ballot.

I start filling in the circles and notice I’m still wearing my dark glasses so I make the adjustments so I fill out the right circle. What is the right circle?

Checking both sides to make sure I filled out all the vacant spaces, I stepped around the polling booth and was directed to another area by the lady with the squirt bottle. Do what she says and you won’t get hurt. You don’t know what is in that bottle.

Standing on the circle on the floor until given the command, “Next”. Was this how they did the ovens?

Now I held a receipt, a pen, a manila folder and a ballot within. This is where it get complicated.

Let me notice that there are two men next to the machinery. Why was before that were only women at the tables and with that squirt bottle?

Put the folder in the recycle bin, hand the receipt to a poll worker (or just some guy collecting scrapes of paper) and put the ballot into a copier machine.

I’ve asked enough times that it doesn’t matter which side up so I just shove it into the slot. Whirrrrrre!

Wait!! The ballot comes back with a warning message on the screen.

This could have stopped the voting process at this precinct.

“Did you fill in the circle?” the gentleman asked. Note: This is not my first rodeo.

Feeling knowledgeable enough know how to fill in a space, I shoved the paper back in.

“Thank you for voting” the computer screen messaged as it sucked in my ballot to points unknown and I was ‘almost’ done.

I had to go to another table and put down my pen and pick up an “I Voted” sticker.

Everyone seemed safe and friendly and necessarily clean but we all touched the same door handle.

Back in the sunshine is like a resurrection. You have followed the procedure, done your constitutional right and can now go home.

All you get is a sticker (that those who voted by mail didn’t get) and a walk in the sunshine.

Won’t be having a party and can wait till tomorrow (or more) to see what comes next.

In God We Trust