Jackie Wells-Fauth
I am a serious American citizen. I believe all American citizens should vote. I just wish the process didn’t resemble the entrance line at Ellis Island. It’s involved, full of traps and can promote disease if you are there too long!
First, there is the sign up. I am always amazed when I get there and they find me on the register. I make certain I come with my driver’s license…and my passport, just in case…and oh yeah, I take along a few pieces of mail because I heard that was good…also, I have my notarized signature ready to go…and I always bring two people who were present at my birth (and those are getting harder and harder to find!).
Between all of that and a dog (who recognizes me on sight), it’s sometimes hard to fit through the door and someone always tells me that I may have overdone the “legal identification” requirement.
“Ma’am, you just need a photo ID,” they patiently remind me.
“Oh I know, but just in case, I have this affidavit from God, stating that Jesus is my savior. Would that be helpful?”
Once I’ve established that I am who I say I am (and why would anyone lie about being me?), they hand me a clean, crisp ballot and direct me to a small booth and that’s when I really begin to sweat. First, because I have claustrophobia and those little cardboard dividers are very small. It takes me back to elementary school when they put those around us so we wouldn’t cheat. In vain, have I tried to convince the pollsters that no one would want to cheat off of my ballot.
And that brings me to my second problem: Who and what do I vote for? My first instinct is always—when in doubt, mark C. Except in most cases, they don’t have a C choice. My father always said if you mark all one party or the other, it means you were too lazy to study the choices. He knew me so well!
And that means every time I stand in that little cubicle, I’m asking myself if it was John Smith who promised lower taxes (but didn’t say how) or Jane Jones who was going to bring in new businesses (but didn’t say what)? Now, I don’t want you to think I just randomly pick someone. I generally vote for the best-looking one. Oh, wait a minute! You’re not supposed to do that either!
By now, that little cardboard divider is really beginning to close in and I’ve reached the worse part of the ballot—the hell that is initiated measures and Constitutional Amendments. Who thinks this is a good idea? I can barely tell you the difference between them, let alone read all the political jibberish and make a decision about the best ones. In vain, do I get a sample ballot and explanations of the issues. I make myself a cheat sheet and when I get in that little booth, with the walls closing in, I start second-guessing my choices.
“Now, is this necessary or will it trap us into the billionaires’ clutches?” And even worse, “If I vote yes does that mean it changes or does it stay the same? And why are the only choices Yes or No? Why don’t they have “I don’t know” as a selection?”
In the end, I submit my ballot, secretly, (so no one knows how I voted) and I always hope the sweat marks will dry before they count the votes.
I go home, fix myself a nice, soothing cup of tea and shut off the news. I’ve had enough stress, I don’t want to hear progress reports! Just tell me the results when everything is counted and I’ll try to be satisfied.
After all the pain and agony, the main thing that counts, of course, is that I voted…which entitles me to complain about what the government does that I don’t like. I would wish the same kind of fun for you!
