I got up bright and early to vote, lungs filled with the righteous air of freedom. Lockingmy door, I noticed my neighbor sitting on his stoop with suitcases. It looked like maybe he was getting thrown out, waiting for a cab. As if there wasn’t enough anxiety out there already. I felt terrible for him. Moving on to the polling centers at the corner of 12th and Reed, I found that I was not meant for the round building but the square one. Once in the square, I was able to vote right away. No lines at all and just a handful of people on their way in. On leaving, I was met by the clipboard folks who, it turned out, had already crossed my name off their list. There I was, highlighted in yellow with a checked box. Ihad a sudden, terrified vision of myself having woken up earlier, stumbled down my street at 7AM and voted in my underwear, only to stumble back to bed with no memories and then doingit again, fully clothed. I think that’s pretty unlikely.
After getting to work, I heard from my girlfriend, who had caused quite a stir at her poll when she asked for a pen to write in a candidate. Pollworkers questioned what she meant to do with the pen, what exactly a “write-in” might be, and whether any of this was legal. She explained that indeed there was a whole portion of the machine devoted to write-ins. People scurried, tore their hair, ran in circles, and flailed arms before the local Councilman restored order, gave her a pen, and, once she had voted, asked to see and was shown how the write-in is done.

This entry was posted on Friday, October 29th, 2004 at 8:02 pm.