ELECTILE DYSFUNCTION

I voted today. I live in a small town in upstate New York, and while I wasn’t passionate about any of the candidates, I bought into that whole civic duty thing.

First glitch: the sign outside Town Hall where I always vote informed me that I now had to vote at the community center. I drove over there and got on the line for District One.

When I got to the head of the line, Francine, the overworked poll worker who works one day a year, asked if I was in District One, and I said I thought I was, and she told me I’m probably not. “Everyone stops at my table because I’m in front,” she informed me. Dumbass was implied but not spoken.

I spelled my name and just as she was looking me up, another Important Election Official interrupted her with a question.

She immediately dropped me and focused on him. When she finally got back to me a few minutes later, she checked for my name again, then triumphantly informed me that she was right all along. “You’re not in District One,” she said.

Another one-day-a-year worker walked me to a map on the wall. I gave her my address, and she told me I was in District Seven. It didn’t ring a bell, but hey, I only do this once a year.

When I finally got to the front of the District Seven line, a man informed me — politely this time — that I was not in District Seven. “I think his street is in District One,” the nice man told a co-worker. “Check the map.”

We did. Sure enough, my road is in District One.

I didn’t want to go to the back of that freaking line again, so I cornered a woman who looked like she had supervisory powers, and I told her that Francine kicked me out of my Rightful District.

Francine looked me up again and stuck to her guns. I wasn’t in her book.

“Are you sure?” I said. I spelled my name one more time.

“Oh,” she said. “I thought you said Harp.”

Harp? As in Harpie? How fitting.

Once she found my name I signed in and I was told that my voting machine was out of service for at least 20 minutes. If I didn’t want to wait I could use an emergency paper ballot.

I then got on a paper ballot line. When it was my turn to sit down the supervisor explained that there was a write-in candidate, and he had generated so many votes that the voting machine for my District was out of paper. She apologized for the delay.

I told the supervisor that my only problem was with Francine.

"It's hectic," she said.

"No, she has a broom up her ass," I said.

The supervisor smiled and I do believe I got silent agreement. Then she handed me the paper ballot. I told her I couldn’t read the fine print for the referendum question and asked what it said. She said "it’s something about land."

I opted for holding the ballot at arm’s length so I could read it.

I checked off my votes, and finally she asked if I’d like to write in a name.

I said yes, and I wrote in Hamid Karzai.

Okay, I didn’t, but boy did I ever want to.

Most of the time it’s a great feeling to be an American. But on Election Day 2009, the best I could do was go through the motions.

So how about you? Did you vote? And was it everything you hoped it would be?

Marshall posted on November 3, 2009 10:39 PM