once upon a time at the polling station
on undead electors and the zombification of the political process
The first alarm went off at 3:25, the second at 3:27, the third at 3:29. This pattern continued until 3:37 when I finally peeled myself outta bed and found my phone.
Ready to go Jim?
My mother in law was up and waiting to go with me to the airport.
Gnnnhhhfffffuuu akkk barasha gnewt!
Nothing intelligible was coming from my mouth
One plane then the next then home.
The day has been a blur.
It’s been a blur except for the bulge in my pants.
We’re having an erection dontchaknow.
I rode my bike to the polling station. Once there I didn’t want to leave.
braiiinnnnnssss! Braaaaaiiiinnnnssss!
I was a zombie elector making ongoing and relentles small talk with all and everyone.
Would you like to help scrutinize the ballot count? We need some voters to do this?
BRRRRRAAAAAIINNNNNNNSSSS!
Zombie voter in a fit of agreeability said yes.
Then, the texts came.
Where are you?
I’ve been asked to be a scrutineer!
???
They want me to supervise the vote count. I was asked!
Somehow in my little kidney bean sized brain being asked was some sort of honour.
Wow. You’re so patriotic. And you look like the walking dead.
Forget about the exhaustion! I get to watch people count ballots!
I was so proud.
So you’re telling me that you’re using the last of your non asshole patience with a bunch of strangers while they count ballots? Ok. But don’t be grumpy with me when you get home.
They closed the door of the polls.
I sat there, slumped over.
Can someone sign…
I tuned out the voices and started nodding off to sleep.
I would have fallen completely asleep had I not heard the returning officer speaking.
Well. Get a drink, use the washroom and have a snack. Only two or three more hours to go.
Something stuck to my little pea sized brain. Two or three more hours? No fucking way.
I may have given my word, but considering my lack of sleep my word was worth less than a degree from the Turnips’ university.
Hey Mr Votey Vote face? I may have bitten off more than I can chew. I’m not functioning. The passive, nice guy people pleaser said yes, but he was writing a check with his mouth that this arsehole is not able to cash. I’m outta here.
I got on my bike and rode for home, proud that the little greedy part of me was still there enough to see me into the crisp cool sheets of a freshly made bed.
