Serious business

Bright and early yesterday I went to my local polling place. After some difficulty they found me on their list. The name was just like it was written on the card that I had presented that had been issued from the Board of Elections. “Hmmm, Lester Bryant III is an impressive name,” someone's granny told me. "I'm working on it," I told her. She didn't get it and I was eager to get votin'. I signed my name in the book right above my mother's and was given the ballot in a grey folder. Following instructions, I did as I am certain that you my civic minded friends did and went over to the little cardboard booth setup and selected your candidates. It did not take long in that just about every “opponent” had by this point succeeded in pissing me off . I recalled them as I voted: the guy who wanted to unseat the incumbent who had spent much of his adult life not voting and living in NYC and abroad; the nut job who would be king; the hateful looking lady who would unseat the Ivy-leaguer etc. etc. As well, I refused to cast a vote for anyone without an opponent. It makes sense to me anyway. I quickly marked the ovals for my choices. Teacher, I’m finished. I returned my glassed to my face and looked around as to where to go next.

A smiling woman directed me to the voting machine near the right wall. I inserted the ballot and the machine returned it to me. “Is there a message on the little screen,” the woman asked? It reads, “blah, blah, blah... I’m stupid.” Apparently, I had not filled in the ovals or at least most of them but rather I had placed heavy X’s. With the same Mrs. Cleaver smile she seemed to announce to the room my error. I was embarrassed. I voted in the primary, certainly I knew to color in the ovals rather than do what I did. I slowly put my hands behind my back fearing a ruler was coming to attack them. “Please return to the table and fill all of your selections in correctly." The room seemed to frown. As I turned it seemed the entire room was watching me. The older gentleman behind me had an expression that could only be interpreted by me that I was a dick. Head down and with a lifetime of standardized test floating through my brain, I did as I was told.

Did I do it right this time, teacher? The woman was tempted to check my answers as had been long ago but, obviously remembered her duties as a poll sitter. I was directed to try submitting it again. “Did it work this time,” I was asked? Indeed it had and I asked, “Am I going to get into a good college?” “Sir, you’re next,” she said to the voter behind me, ignoring my smart mouth.