Lolling through my third ten minutes of snooze time this morning, I lazily scrolled through my Facebook feed past several check-ins and status updates including photos of long lines at the polls. (I have east coast peeps who are early risers. While I’m snoozing and perusing, they are hustling and bustling. Sometimes I feel guilty about that, but usually I chuckle.) Many comments argued that it shouldn’t be so inconvenient to vote, and that if the line was longer than 20 minutes, most folks wouldn’t.
In my county, you don’t have to vote in your precinct this year. You can sneak out to any outer suburban one-room library you can find and eschew long lines at the urban middle school next to your Starbucks. Which is great. I agree that we need to make voting as easy as we possibly can, and that you shouldn’t have to feel like you deserve to wear a sticker on your shirt just because you endured and ultimately overcame some ghastly ordeal. What’s more, my available polls included the YMCA where I work out. That means I could have jumped out of bed when the alarm went off, made it to my regularly scheduled workout, AND voted. If that’s not convenient, I don’t know what is.
Of course that’s not what I did. I didn’t go out-of-precinct to avoid long lines. I did not jump out of bed when the alarm went off. And although I did make it to my regularly scheduled workout, I didn’t marry my two to-dos in a glorious union of productivity and efficiency. Nope. Sticking stringently to the straight blob ticket, I sucked down a high calorie (salty?) coffee drink and buttery butter croissant standing in the county’s longest line at the urban middle school next to my Starbucks.
All that’s left now to fulfill my civic duty is to reverently take in the election results.
At a sports bar.