|We're the ones your mother warned your about...No, seriously. We are.|
I'm Gonna Rock Your Bloody Vote if you're not careful!
So here we have me - civic minded little Anya, who figures if I really wants to be allowed to bitch about the Mayor / City Council should vote for the ones I do want, drove like a she-demon (not unusual, then) on the highways and roared into the little city of Oshawa by 3:30pm.
This was just plain nifty.
Stopping at Mama and Papa's house to pick up the elections card, I dealt with the first challenge:
"I know. But I need the card so that they'll tell me where I have to go to vote." I tried to be patient, and suceeded. Somewhat.
"So, you're not voting?" Said Anya's Papa
I turned slowly. "I am voting. I need to go down to THIS poll to find out WHICH poll I have to go to in order to vote for MY subarea."
Papa Anya pauses. "So, you ARE voting. But, you don't live here."
The his and hers lobotomies that my parental figures must have given each other for an anniversary present were obviously successful.
After wasting a total of twenty minutes to finally sum it down in: "Give me the bloody card. I'll
take care of the rest." I escaped the uber-hell, and went down to Polling Station #4, or...
"Oh. You're in the WRONG station, dear." Said the nice blue-haired granny. I managed not to kill her on the spot, though the temptation went high.
"I know." I said calmly. "It's like this, I love my parents... who along with me are listed on the card, but there is no way in Hell that I can, at age 31, live with them. I moved out a few years ago. Nothing in this universe short of being turned into a vegetable could make me move back in."
The little old lady titters. "So, are your parents voting."
"But you can't vote here."
"Haven't we been through this?"
Finally after spoon-feeding the new license and the old address to her, and giving the cross-roads, we get it into her head. Oooooh... I'm not in subsection 4, I'm in 5. Okay-dokey.
So, according to the list, I'm to go to Polling Station 5, or *
"Oh, honey... you're supposed to vote for Ward 4." Said the new lady at Station 5.
"Nuh-huh. I'm to vote here. For Ward 4. Because, I live at *
Especially the ones that blink vacantly at her with cow-eyes. "Look, my driver's license. See?" (Insert subnote: Oh FUCK! My passport is for *old address*. !@#$%) I show the driver's license, wander to the poll map and shows quite clearly where I lives.
"Oh. Okay then. Fill this form in." I fill the form in.
"Now take this over there, and they'll get you a ballot." Okay. So, to the nice table, with the nice middle-aged man of a rather fussy nature.
"You're not on my list."
"I know. I've got the pink sheet to take care of that."
"No. You're NOT on my list."
"Was the former owner?"
"No owner." He flips more pages. "*Anya's address here* Avenue is NOT on my list." Now he's getting flustered, flapping around like Big Bird trying to get a take-off happening. It's not working so well, but then again, I've never seen Big Bird fly on Sesame Street either.
Hustling BACK to the table and the map, we discover Ward 5 is SOOOOO big, there's 3 polling stations nearby. And because some IDIOT who doesn't know how to divide a map arbitrarily decided, I have to go to Poll Station #2.
Now I get why so many people don't vote. The temptation to just turn the car right and go home was almost overwhelming.
I go to Poll Station #2, *location once again deleted by Claris* Public School. The school is on the corner of *deleted!*. In terms of busy intersections, It's the BUSIEST in Oshawa. Getting into the parking lot took all those refined Toronto-Driving skills, and I'm sure a few old ladies had heart attacks as I did it.
Cautiously, I slide into THIS station. "Hi." I greeted. "I'm here to vote. I'm not on your list. I've moved to *Anya's address here* St. on October 1st, so no... I don't have a card."
The lady blinks. "Ooookay." Like THIS is a new thing? "I don't think we've had a single *Anya's address here* St. resident today."
"It's a very small street. And it's ON your list." I'm close to growling. Hell, I'm close to killing every single worker in this poll station. Just to make me feel better. It's 5:30 by now, and my 'early' afternoon has gone to hell.
"Oh! Here it is!" She chimes as if this is a happy occasion. I suppose, in retrospect, it is. It meant her husband and children had a wife and mother still.
I fill out the pink form again. She signs it. I go over to the table, I had the pink form over.
"*Anya's address here* St?" The woman blinks. "I don't know..."
My smile MUST have been unfriendly, because she looked back at her pages and said, "Let me look again."
She found it.
Then I got the "how to fill out a ballot lecture." Again, with the unfriendly smile. Unlike the school children she might teach, I DID pass colouring in the lines.
I took my ballot. I spent all of 30 seconds colouring in the dots. It wasn't that strenuous and I KNEW who I was voting for. That's what RESEARCH is for. I did that. I knew the candidates, I knew what their goals were. (And I put an ex-military sargeant in the Public Board of Trustees for the schools. Suffer children, suffer everywhere.)
I'm leaving the station, relieved that the trauma is over, and this youngish man walks up to the doors as I'm leaving. "Hi." He grins.
"Hello." Okay, I admit, I'm cranky now.
I blink. The urge to say, "No. Duh?" almost overwhelms me. "Oh, I thought about it." I said.
He froze. "You mean, you didn't?"
I shrugged. "Well, I did draw happy faces on the ballots, I figure the cute clown will make a better mayor." He just gapes at me and I grin. "Have a great night."
Then, I hop into my little car and roar out of the parking lot. Oshawa General may have an influx of cardiac patients tonight.
And that was me doing my civic duty. Thankfully, this only comes up every 4 years.
Thank YOU! You've just written your first NoDignity.com article...have a nice day!
... you can't use that!
Um, too bad? I've got it now! *mwa ahahahahahaaa...*