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Voting at the Library
On Wednesday at 1:14 in the afternoon, we walked into our local library to cast our votes.
Just as we got into line, a man approached the counter, asking for help. He spoke softly, remembering that this was a library, not a bar. The librarian stood up and pointed toward a hallway saying, “Halfway down, take a right.”
The man nodded graciously and replied, “Preciate you!”
When did we drop the ‘A,’ I wondered.
The line moved slowly, as most lines do.
Judah squirmed in my arms as we took in our surroundings.
For a moment, we stood next to an elderly man sitting on a bench. He was surrounded by a few duffle bags. This seemed to be his resting stop for the afternoon. He scrolled through an iPad, looking up every now and again to see who was standing near him. He made eye contact with Judah and smiled. Judah has this effect on most. Judah smiled back, clapping his hands in a way that made the man smile even bigger.
Just above the man were a few rows of books displayed on the wall.
Take Control of Your IBS was next to Keep the Faith, which was next to Dragons Love Farts.
The line continued to grow long.
“Glad we got here when we did,” said the person a few spots ahead of us.
I let my self-diagnosed ADHD take control as I looked around the library.
The line we stood in could have very well been the line to get into heaven.
It was an eclectic mix: different backgrounds, ethnicities, and ages.
The man in front of me was nearing 70. The woman behind me was leaving her 40s. Nearby, a woman wore a hair net while a man sported a red hat. A man with a cat shirt stood beside a little girl dressed as a pumpkin. At the end of the line was a young man who seemed to be voting for the first time—or maybe he just had a great skincare routine.
When we finally reached the front, a volunteer exclaimed, “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing!”
Normally, I’d reply with a cheerful, “Thank you, I’ve been working out,” but that joke has flopped every time for the past year. At best, it gets an eye roll that says, “Not you, buddy. And clearly, you haven’t been working out.”
I’m learning to control myself.
As it was time to vote, I handed the volunteer my license. She quietly checked it over. The silence stretched too long, and I felt the need to speak.
“First-time voter,” I said, motioning to Judah.
“What’s that?” she asked, concern etched on her face.
Repeating a joke is painful, like eating leftover French fries—not as good the second time around. “Uh, he’s a first-time voter,” I clarified, pointing to Judah.
Horror swept across her face. With the tone of a thousand teachers, she firmly said, “He is certainly not old enough to vote, sir.”
I told her I was joking, but she gave me a look that said, “This is not the time to joke.”
She passed me off to another volunteer, and I kept my mouth shut. Judah played with my car keys as I filled out my ballot. He shook them while I bounced him on my hip. A few taps on the screen, and I was done. I submitted my ballot and received my “I Voted” sticker.
I wanted to stick it on Judah and show the volunteer, but I knew better.
Instead, I waved from a distance and said, “Preciate you.”
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People are so serious these days, huh? When I go out to vote, it is at a local church and the people are always so friendly. Plus, they usually have candy in a bowl next to the stickers.
Our county has adorable little "future voter" stickers for kids that join at the polls. I'm glad for spaces that encourage the presence of children. Too bad for grumpy, overly-serious people.