If You Didn't Vote, Don't Complain

Hillmomba had a greater than usual voter turnout, according to the local online newspaper. I can concur. The parking lot of our voting precinct, at a small church out farther in the county, had three spaces open. Granted, there's another parking lot, unpaved, that I've needed to use when voting after work. But we generally find the parking lot half full.

Anyhoo... Farmer H squeezed A-Cad into one of two adjoining spaces.

"Wow. These are small! You'll probably have to back out so I can get the door open when we come out."

Indeed. He did. I don't know how the person who parked next to us was able to get out of their small sedan. I daresay that Slender Man, on a hunger strike, wearing only spandex, would have had trouble.

Anyhoo... we headed for the basement, where voting occurs. I had to grip the too-low handrail on the left wall, to get down the five carpeted stairs. I couldn't keep right, as with traffic rules, due to the mechanical old-people chair mounted there. Like the one hateful Mrs. Deagle rode, going up, when she shot out the 2nd-story window in GREMLINS.

Anyhoo... as I was hobbling, a lady started for the stairs with her single-digit age daughter. She pulled her back like the dog-walker avoiding Clark Griswold sleep-speeding in the Family Truckster in National Lampoon's Vacation. Sorry, lady. You people on your young legs will just have to accommodate Mrs. HM, since the church has not seen fit to put in a ramp. Only a mechanical deathtrap with a seat big enough for half a rumpus.

I'd say about 3/4 of the people we encountered were wearing masks. Two of them were 20-somethings at the check-in table, while their older cohorts handing out pens were not.

There were social distancing circles on the floor. Amazing how all those popped up everywhere, a day or two after the Stay-At-Home-Downs started in March, almost as if they had been pre-printed and shipped! The folks in line didn't seem too inclined to keep six feet apart. Indeed, it was not possible at the check-in table, where you handed your driver's license to the checker-inner, and they set it on an electronical contraption to read the barcode on the back. I think there were 3 or 4 checker-inners, about a foot or 18 inches apart. They'd call us over when they got rid of a voter.

We had to sign our signature (what else would we sign?) with a little rubber-tipped stubby stylus thingy that we picked up out of a Solo cup. After using it, we put it in a flat cardboard box. When almost out of those thingies, a lady would come from the middle of the room and take the box away. For cleansing, I presume.

On down the table, ladies (unmasked) were handing out ballots. You had to announce whether you wanted Democrat, Republican, or Libertarian. Only one. No other choices. Then you picked up a blue-ink pen lying on the table. I guess maybe those maskless old crones used up their Solo cups for drinking! When you were done, you returned your pen to a flat cardboard box.

For voting, you took your ballot and pen to a table. Yes. A table. This is a church basement, used for potlucks and socials, with round tables, six chairs to a table. Forget about privacy! Anybody sitting there could see your votes, or anybody walking behind to get to another table. I refused to sit down, because at my space, there was a used napkin! Not merely used to blot an errant crumb, perhaps. But SOAKING with something not quite white, and not quite yellow! I wasn't about to touch it! Making matters even more unsanitary, the tables were covered with white papery tablecloths!

Farmer H later said that the napkin was probably from somebody's breakfast donut, or covered with cleaner that had been used to wipe pens. Either way, it shouldn't have been there! I don't get all the hubbub about washing the pens, when clearly the tables were not being wiped, and not having their cloths replaced.

Anyhoo... Farmer H and I voted side-by-side at a round table, and finished together, and went to feed our ballot into the slot of a machine that sucked it right down. Like the bill receiver in a slot machine! I turned to look at the table where the pens were, because usually there are individual stickers on wax-paper-like backing, saying I VOTED. There were none! Darn you, VIRUS!

From there, Farmer H and I went back past the check-in table line, to the carpeted stairs, and up and out into the fresh air. It might have taken 15 minutes total, but five of it was walking at my slow pace. There weren't many items on the ballot. It was only one-sided. I could have been out faster if I wasn't so fastidious about coloring in the boxes for my choices.

The Pony chose to sleep in rather than vote. Farmer H is waiting for him to start spouting off in the future. He snoozed and losed his chance to debate with Farmer H over issues he didn't care enough to vote on.