Or did I? I have no idea, really.
After moving to Colorado this summer, I, of course, took two months to send in my voter-registration form, beating the deadline by only a week or so. Then, this morning, when I tried to confirm my registration online, some red fuck-you message came up, telling me no dice. I almost cried. I've been sucking down this Kool-Aid for a year. I'd really hate to single-handedly run the country into a big ditch of suckitude.
I went to my polling place anyway, of course. Sadly, it was not at the Squire Lounge or a tattoo shop, or something equally representative of my neighborhood. But the old folks at the old-folks home couldn't have been nicer. I had no proof of my registration; no proof of my address; no proof of anything, really. I was like the Jason Bourne of voters, if Jason Bourne could get his ass kicked by an elderly polling-place volunteer. But who cares! I had options!
A nice lady explained them. I believe her name was Doris, because she looked like she could bake a hell of a cobbler, and everyone knows Dorises make the best cobblers. Doris explained that I could fill out an emergency registration form (although I'd have to go somewhere else to do it). Would my vote really count? I asked. She had no idea. But we both agreed it would make me feel much better.
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SHOW ME HOW
Since I believed I really was registered, Doris told me my better option would be to fill out a provisional ballot, and that they would "count it like all the other ballots." I think we both knew this wasn't true -- that no would crack open that provisional unless the fate of the world rested on it. But Doris really sold it. She worked hard to convince me my vote would count. And isn't that all anyone wants?
That's all I needed. By the time I finished the ballot, I had that feeling, a sense that I just contributed one glancing blow in the Royal Rumble of democracy -- maybe even the blow that sends the forces of irrationality and kookiness over the ropes and down for a ten-count.
So thanks, Doris. I'd take you to lunch, but you're clearly too busy making people's day. -- Joe Tone