November 03, 2004
Voting
Well, I got'er done. What a royal pain in the buttocks! I get down to the fire station, find the right ward, tell'em my name and address ... not in the book.
"Are you sure you're registered?"
"Uh, yesss."
"You're not on the lists."
"I gathered that .... I am registered though."
Helpful hint: Do not register at the DMV. Last Presidential election, I got to the polls, and even though I could have sworn that I had registered, there was no record of it. Granted, I had gotten my new license and "registered" just a couple of months earlier. Should have received a card, but coming from Wisconsin, where you could register at the polls, I didn't pay much attention. Now in Illinois, no card, no vote. I made sure to fix that with my next trip to the DMV. I thought.
*sidetracked .... I 'm going nuts listening to Bland Blather repeating himself over and over and ..... Stop with the stupid comments. Now. Please. Jackass.*
Sorry. Anyway, after more discussion, phone calls are made to the county courthouse. I'm told to fill out a provisional ballot. Fill out envelope for ballot, and then am told that I can't vote. I insist that I am registered, and I would like to get my vote in. More calls to the courthouse. By now, I'm pissed. Not so much at the people at the polls; they're trying to follow rules. I'm pissed because I'm getting embarrassed over something I know that I've taken care of. I know it! They ask if I have a receipt from my attempted registration. I told them that if they would just wait, I would check my glove box. They hand back my drivers license, and out to the parking lot I go. I'm not exactly sure why I thought it might be there, but sure enough, the receipt was still in there. What a great feeling!
Made my way back inside, and three of the four people I was dealing with looked a little suprised. My thought is that they figured I would bolt. No. Freakin. Way. The old guy sitting at the table just gave me a huge grin. Another call to the courthouse, and now I'm told that the clerk would like to speak to me. It was actually pretty cool .... she apologized profusely. She reaffirmed that I was not on their list, but they had taken care of that. I got to vote, and the grinning old man says to me, "Now that was a fight to get a vote! I'm glad you did it, son!"
What should have taken five minutes, tops, took me forty five. And while I was pissed for awhile, after the elder's comment, I felt proud as hell for dealing with it and not just leaving. I was cursing my luck, and it still worked out for me.
"Luck, my rarely present friend, I apologize for cursing you."
