I joked with my daughter today about voting. This is because "Something" always happens when I vote. The last time, I had a little old biddy shake her finger at me and shout, "You didn't read your white card, did you?" I had gone to my usual voting place, not knowing it had changed. I've never had my voting place change and didn't expect it to. I thought she was going to take away my voting rights for two elections for that infraction.
Tonight, my bus got home late, but I still had time to change clothes, grab my laptop and walk up to the polling place. My plans were to have dinner at Kaldi's Plaza across the street.
I arrived 7 minutes to 7. Following the signs, I went down the stairs and encountered a little old lady who looked startled to see me. "You don't want to vote do you?" she asked, shaking her head "no" to prompt me.
When I say "little old lady", I towered over her from my lofty 5'2". I seldom get to do that with adults.
I attempted to boom in an authoritative manner, "Yes, I do."
"Well", she quavered. "We've nearly torn everything down."
"Put it back up, it's not 7 yet." I was feeling my oats as an Amazon.
I walked into the room and caught 5 women in the act of packing up. They looked up; startled, then looked at the clock. They sighed as a group and started opening their Official and Mysterious Books of Voters.
The one apparently in charge (you could tell because her hair had the most purple in it) said "OK, but she's the last one."
I looked at the clock, it showed 7:02. I looked at my cell phone, it was 6:55 according to it. I didn't say anything because I was voting, after all.
They weren't happy about it and they let me know by slamming things around and sighing a lot.
I sure hoped I was voting opposite of them.
The door opened and a man walked in, reaching for his wallet to prove his identity.
The women all turned to look at Purple Hair for validation. "Are we going to let him vote?" one asked.
The man challenged them. "And why wouldn't you?"
Purple Hair said, "OK, but lock the door, he's it."
Then she pointedly looked at the clock.
The man pulled out his cellphone and said, "Your clock is wrong; it's 6:58."
Purple Hair said, pointing at the clock "We opened the polls by that clock and we should close by that clock." I looked at her closely, but she wasn't the one I tangled with at the earlier election. She had a different style of finger pointing.
He told her what he thought of that rule; which was followed by more book slamming and sighing.
I voted (only one issue so it was quick) and left, passing a couple on their way in to vote. My cellphone showed 6:59.