The Vote Is Cast

Farmer H and The Pony picked me up at the entrance of the hospital after my nurse practitioner appointment. My clinic is in a 4-story building attached to the hospital. That's a high-rise around Hillmomba. It might just be the tallest building in the county.

We headed over to the mini-mall-like plaza that used to house doctors' offices, across from Farmer H's old hospital that is now closed. I was a bit discombobulated, after my very own nurse practitioner had said, "Oh, over by the morgue?" when I said we were going to vote.

I didn't see anything morgue-like. No corpses, no bodies on stretchers. No shades were open to show metal lockers like large filing cabinets for people. Farmer H drove under a covered entrance where we saw people coming and going. 

"I don't know where this place is."

"I'd bet it's where all the people are. I mean, all three of those people we see. Yes! Look at that sign. It's the county annex."

"Yeah, Dad. And that sign on the door says, 'VOTE HERE.'"

"Okay. I'll drop you off so you don't get wet. I'll have to park way down there."

"You're letting me out by myself?"

"Unless The Pony wants to get out now, too."

"I'll go with you, Mom."

In we went, through double sliding doors. It was good to get out of the cold. 42 degrees, with a chill wind and rain. I'd left my jacket back home. The minute I stepped through an inner door to the voting room, I realized I'd left something else...

MY GLASSES IN A-CAD!

Oh, well. I'd just have to squint. Though voting is kind of an important activity where you want to know what you're reading.

I handed my driver's license to the old lady at the first station. She plopped it into a reader of sorts, and told me to sign the screen with a tiny stylus.

 

"Pick up one of those, sign, and then put it in the box. We have somebody clean them after each use."

 

On down the table I went. I was handed a ballot.

 

"Sit at any table where there's a pen."

 

"Do I get one of these pens? To write with?" I motioned to a box of them.

 

"No. Use one on the table."

 

Hmm... that seemed odd. But I wasn't going to pitch a fit right there in the voting room. The Pony was trailing after me, giving his own info. It was a rectangular room, one side windows with mini-blinds. About the size of a double classroom. There was an exit door at the back right side, next to a table that held I VOTED stickers.

 

I took my ballot to a table along the back wall. Throughout the room, there were about nine tables. They were a mismatched selection. Some with the laminated wood top we are so familiar with at school. Others hard white plastic, sold at Sam's Club and The Devil's Playground. I have several of those I purchased myself, to use at school. Each had two folding chairs, tastefully distanced. Some were plain brown metal. Some black with a cushy seat that lets out a sigh when you sit down. And two hard plastic molded chairs at my table in the back.

 

The Pony chose a wood-topped table running perpendicular to mine. Farmer had come in, and was walking to the other end of The Pony's table. I picked up the black-ink white Bic pen on my white table, and started squinting. Farmer H sat down, looked at his ballot, and said,

"This says to fill in the squares with black ink. I have a BLUE ink pen!"

Seriously? Like a kid talking out of turn in school! Farmer H was interrupting the voting process of about 6-10 other people.

"It says black OR BLUE," added The Pony, holding up his own. "I have blue."

A man working the ballot-eating machine stepped in from the back door. "Blue is fine. Either black or blue will work."

I resumed squinting. It wasn't too challenging. I could make out most names. There were not a lot on the ballot. Some races were unopposed. There were only two propositions on the ballot. I knew what both of them were about, so I didn't have to read the lengthy paragraphs. When I finished, I laid down my white black pen. The Back Door Man asked if I was done.

"Yes. But I'm waiting on my people. Do I bring the pen?"

"No. We have students that collect and clean them."

 

The Pony was done. We were waiting on Farmer H. Then we all proceeded to the back door and the ballot-eater. Farmer H went first. No problem. The Pony fed his ballot to the slot. It didn't move.

"Give it a push," said Back Door Man.

The Pony tapped the end. Rrr rrr rrr went the ballot-eater.

"Try it again. You'll get it." Back Door Man was a great cheerleader.

The Pony tapped it again. Rrr rrr rrr.

"Don't be afraid of it! Don't be so gentle!" Back Door Man was also a coach.

When The Pony's third tap didn't make the ballot-eater feed, Back Door Man shoved the end of The Pony's ballot, and it went down the hatch. Then I fed mine in like a twenty into a slot machine. Into the ballot-eater's gullet it went.

That's one thing that kept me from voting early a month ago. I was concerened about where my ballot would live until election day. Farmer H called in to the county election commissioner's radio show, and asked. They are locked up. Nobody can look at them before 11:00 a.m. on election day. That's when they start getting the tally out of the ballot-eater, I think. Farmer H says they are stored in lock boxes. That maybe the ballot-eater's stomach is actually a lock box. DUH! How would the ballots get in? They are probably transferred to a lock box when the ballot-eater's stomach is full.

Anyhoo... we all voted, and The Pony got a sticker. And from there, we proceeded to a surprise casino trip. It was a busy, busy day for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.