Adventures in Voting

So, we finally got it together and voted yesterday. As what had seemed like a cavernous, lazy Sunday afternoon slowly became a sink-or-swim three hour slot between Eva's second nap and bedtime, we caravaned on down to Vets' Memorial to do our civic duty. We considered the fact that it might be crowded, thought about doing it while Jason was at home on Tuesday, and vetoed that in favor of picking out a pumpkin. Yesterday was for civic action, a feeling that was highlighted and underlined by the people with Barack's face plastered to their chests around campus, as well as a red and blue spray-painted van with "Vote Today" on the hood.

We pulled up to the coliseum and noted that the line stretched outside the building and on down Broad Street towards the bridge. Sheer shock kept my foot on the gas pedal and we found ourselves in a parking space. We were doing this.

We plunked Eva in her wheels and made our way across the lot, where a thousand political signs sprouted from a divider and a short, curly-haired woman waved us down with Democratic sample ballots. "YOO HOO! YOO HOO! You might need THESE, you LOVELY family! And water, do you have water? AWWWLOOKIT!!!Cutiebabypie...Oh, you have to HAVE some OBAMA stickers! And happy voting to you."

It was a bit overwhelming, but in that bright, slightly oppressive, manic upswing way, so it was cool.

We ca-thunked over the sidewalk curb and took up our places. Immediately, we were surrounded by clipboard-bearing college students. "Hi, welcome, glad to see you out today, would you like an unbiased rundown of the issues?" Seeing as how we'd left all that stuff at home, we did. Then, a very large, humble looking guy ambled up and sort of half-apologized as he suggested we vote "No" on Issue 6. He handed a flyer to us and the large contingent of black women behind us, too, who took it and thanked him and chatted him up before I heard the tell-tale rip of paper. "Now, why would I vote "No" on a casino? You can't beat a slot machine," one said out loud, to the murmured affirmations of her friends. You may get passed yet, Issue 6...although that very endorsement contains the seeds of exactly why I voted to nix you.

We slowly plodded forward in the freakishly high wind. Somali women huddled together, head scarves whipping, and a Jewish man stood hand-to-yarmulke. "Look at this line!" Mr. Milkweed said, pulling out the digital camera. The memory card was full, however. Attempting to remember which pictures were on the hard drive and which weren't ate up another twenty minutes. We finally did snap a couple of shots, though. This one had the ladies behind us cooing:



Up to the door, we peered inside, only to find the line stretching up the stairs and around the corner. "At least we're out of the wind," I offered to Mr. Milkweed, who was frantically feeding Eva the chunks of sweet potato we'd hoped to give her while we ate dinner out. You know, after this whole quick "voting" thing. The ladies behind us were not amused. "I am waiting, but I'm saying, is Obama gonna bring me a chair?" Loud agreement, laughter. We trudged forwards.

Considering the amount of crap in the bottom of the stroller, I elected to take the elevator to the top and wait to sidle back in line. As soon as the doors closed, Eva decided we were most certainly ascending into some directionally challenged version of hell. The force of her screams as we reached the second floor caused the entire line to go momentarily silent. I hid behind a fake tree and began feeding her cold baked beans.

Mollified by the secret ingredient in Bush's special sauce, Eva once again began entertaining the ladies who let us back in line. The children in front of us were alternately playing I Spy and punching random buttons on their father's BlackBerry. Eva bucked in the curve of my elbow. "Look, honey! This says 'Restrooms this way.' And, uh, 'No concealed weapons.' A no-smoking sign!" I was running out of ideas.

Finally, we herded our way into a cavernous room. Intestine-like, the line began to double back on itself in DMV fashion, cramming twice as many people into a space that at least gave the visual illusion of relief. After awkwardly curving past an ex-flame of an ex-acquaintance, I made it up to the counter and a very sweet lady began printing off my absentee ballot. "Fill in each circle fully," she intoned, when Eva let out an unholy wail that scared me into almost dropping her. I twisted my ear away from her face, awkwardly facing my hip towards the stunned people in line, and attempted to listen to my ballot instructions. I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Um, here," a man said, handing me one of her shoes while ducking out of the way of her windmilling feet. The other shoe sailed off under a voting booth.

Finally, red-faced and near tears, I mustered as much dignity as I could as I pushed the stroller with one hand and clutched Eva and my ballot in the other, unwashed hair spilling out of the hair band Eva now had in her teeth. "Help...me..." I muttered to Mr. Milkweed, who had just gotten his ballot and looked shocked at how quickly things had gone downhill. A stream of Eva's snot splatted onto the floor.

Choosing a divide and conquer approach, I handed her off to her father, who walked her up and down the narrow aisle between tables as I voted. Then we switched, causing Eva to launch into a fresh wave of hysterics as her father was ripped from her grasp, seemingly never to return. Quiet, well-behaved toddlers looked up at her in wonder as she barrel-rolled against my sweater. I spied her shoe and pocketed it.

Numbly, we got back in line as a poll worker made sure we'd filled out the pertinent info on the outside of the envelope, and then dropped our ballots into a huge silver box. Covered in a sheen of saliva, snot, and sweat, I held my head high as Eva scrabbled with my "I voted!" sticker. I felt a rush of excitement as I realized that we hadn't just been there to be tortured for two and a half hours; we'd been there to make a decision in a free, fair, democratic process. And, with luck, we were helping to elect the most inspiring and intelligent President of our lifetimes thus far. And so, despite the late hour, despite missing our dinner out, and despite the catatonia settling in on my exhausted child, I was ready to declare the day a success.

As Eva might say, Obam-WHAAAAAAAAA!!!!! '08.