so ...

You must pull the switch and I must die

Whee. We went out and voted at our local cute old school­house which was a mil­lion times cuter than Emily Dickinson, my old polling place in NYC. We didn’t have to wait in line for any­thing. There was a decent sized line of election-​day reg­is­trants. Minnesota got it lenient like that. Pretty much all col­lege fresh­men, it looked like. Two girls were walk­ing out when we walked in and one of them was whin­ing about how there were “waah, too many names.” Oh, thank you for can­cel­ing out my vote with your idiocy.
Paper bal­lots, what a gyp. They hand you this bal­lot and a pen and a folder to carry it around in and you’re on your own. You even feed it your­self into this ballot-​reading machine which for all I know could have been a giant paper shred­der. And then I got an “I Voted” sticker for being a good girl. I was hop­ing for the cool “draw a line to com­plete the arrow” busi­ness but no, it was “fill in cir­cles next to the person’s name” like a stan­dard­ized test. We had like a zil­lion judi­cial slots to vote for and only like four of them were con­tested, so it was just fill­ing in cir­cles for the sake of fill­ing in cir­cles and it took too frig­ging long and ow my hand hurt.
I miss my old gigan­tic booths with the cur­tains and the spooooky light­ing where you flip the switches and then pull that phat lever and it goes CATHHHHHUNK and you’re like oooooh yeeeeah with sat­is­fac­tion. Where I went today, all the lit­tle pri­vacy tables were taken up so I had to sit on the gym floor and fill out my bal­lot in the wide open space like I was tak­ing a quiz. For a moment I recap­tured my youth! But it was weird.
Also? No bake sale. At Emily Dickinson, there was always a bake sale. Weak.

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