Exercising My Right to Vote

I love to vote, and so I woke up this morning all ready to be a responsible citizen and get my sticker and a cookie, like every year. My polling place has been Maxwell’s school for the last decade, so voting this year was going to be more convenient than ever.

I don’t know what happens in your community, but in mine, the election people send out a letter every year to let you know your polling place and what districts you’re in. They put “BE SURE TO READ THIS AS YOUR POLLING PLACE MAY HAVE CHANGED” on the envelope. I got my letter a couple months ago. I opened it, looked at it, and put it in the file where I keep such things. This morning, I got it out and looked at it again because I wanted to remember what district I’m in because I always feel like a moron when someone asks me and I don’t know.

By the time I got to Max’s school, I could only remember that my district was twenty-something, but that was enough. The other tables were single digits, so I went confidently up to the twenty-something table, told them my name, and then waited while they couldn’t find me.

Then they were like, “Oh, your polling place moved. You have to go to the Senior Center.”

So, somehow, I–a librarian and writer–managed to read a letter twice without noting this key piece of information. Reading is my number one best skill in life. It is arguably the only thing I’m really good at.

But that is not all.

I went to the Senior Center, and, again, I went confidently up to the only twenty-something table, told them my name, and waited while they couldn’t find me.

“What’s your house number?” they asked.

I told them.

“Oh, that half of your road’s at the Fire Hall.”

I was like, “Seriously?”

And they were like, “Seriously.”

So I walked over to the Fire Hall. At this point, I was running out of coffee. I hadn’t thought to refill at the school (where they have coffee in addition to the cookies), because I didn’t know voting was going to be a half-hour adventure.

I went up to the twenty-something table, told them my name, and–WHEW!–they found me. I voted.

BUT THEY DIDN’T HAVE ANY COOKIES.

Or coffee.

I did get a sticker, though, so that was something. And I got a little exercise. And, you know, I participated in democracy.

It’s just that democracy is way more fun when it’s served with cookies.

7 Comments

  1. momster
    Posted November 8, 2011 at 12:36 pm | Permalink

    You won’t be getting any cookies at the Fire Hall,but you are right about them.I’m sure more people would vote.

  2. Terri
    Posted November 8, 2011 at 3:00 pm | Permalink

    I didn’t get coffee or a cookie but I did get a hug from my sister-in-law who is a polling inspector so that’s a pretty nice way to start the day.

  3. adrienne
    Posted November 8, 2011 at 8:57 pm | Permalink

    Momster, Maybe you can bring the cookies next year. ;)

    Terri, That is pretty good, although I’m glad no one at the Fire Hall hugged me, because it would have been weird.

  4. Posted November 8, 2011 at 9:20 pm | Permalink

    My polling place changed too I had to go to the scary church instead of Brasser. I loved going to Brasser, the inspectors were nice & friendly even though it was 6:15 in the morning. Now I have to go to the scary church with the freakish architecture & huge intimidating posters that imply you must do good deeds or burn forever, and there are like a billion handicapped spots so you have to park a mile from the door, AND I miss the levers. I hate bubbling things in it seems like a test rather than exercising my rights. And now I find out about the cookies, I’ve never gotten cookies. At least both boys went with me and saw democracy in action and got stickers. I’d like to point out I’ve only missed 2 elections, 1 while I was studying in London & 1 when I was in fake labor/bed rest with Lucas (the day before he was born). So to summarize democracy is better with cookies.

  5. Posted November 9, 2011 at 4:08 am | Permalink

    We got ALL screwed up this year, because we sold our house in the U.S., and so sort of glommed on to Mom and Dad’s address. Also, our old city went bankrupt sometime in the last couple of years, so the county people doing the long-distance voting paperwork were displaced.

    They swear they’ll have it all smoothly worked out for next year, but I don’t hold out much hope…

  6. Posted November 9, 2011 at 7:59 am | Permalink

    That phrase should be a thing: Democracy is more fun with cookies. Where I vote they have bagels, cookies, and coffee – which is all very nice and does actually get me through the door. Now, at the two local schools that have voting, the Girl Scouts do bake sales and those are some crazy good treats there. (She says, having worked at those sales for nine years.)

  7. adrienne
    Posted November 9, 2011 at 9:11 am | Permalink

    Tammy, I’m so glad I didn’t get the scary church. I’d rather just worry about burning in hell when I get there.

    Tanita, You probably do have the bigger challenge. In the end, my new polling place is actually within an easy walk from my house. Now that I know where it is.

    Pam, No one can resist Girl Scouts with baked goods. This has been scientifically proven.

Post a Comment

Your email is never shared. Required fields are marked *

*
*