Did I Vote or Not?

Well, yes, I did. My first election as an independent, since the parliamentary sausage-maker opened itself to plain view back in March and finally made me look away from what my party had been doing.

My precinct votes in a local church, one that is not of my denomination. Fortunately, their guard seemed to be down when I arrived, or maybe they disabled the automatic laser warning systems because of the election. Either way, I crossed the threshold without encountering robot machine guns, auto-dunking automatons or mechanized heretic-converters. I was greeted by three volunteer poll-workers who quickly and efficiently gathered my name, had me sign the poll book, handed me my ballot and reminded me to vote on both sides of it. I took it to my "booth," which these days is a folded cardboard cubbyhole that doesn't look all that sturdy. Probably a good idea, because a quick glance at most candidate slates these days is enough to make one seek a structure sturdy enough to support a noose, and providing one might create liability issues.

After filling out the ballot, I fed it into the machine, which beeped to tell me my ballot had successfully been counted by the scanner and changed its counter to tell me I had been voter no. 219 today. The poll workers then offered me one of the "I voted" stickers, which I declined. After all, as a citizen of the United States, I have three broad duties: 1) Obey my nation's laws, 2) Pay my taxes and 3) Vote when given the opportunity to do so. I am blessed enough to live in the best place on earth, and in return those three things are all that are asked of me. I'm not required to serve in the military. Because I was born here, I don't have to swear a loyalty oath of any kind. I don't have to venerate an image of any elected official (I am asked to show respect to the flag by saluting it when pledging allegiance or hearing the national anthem played, but I am not required to do so).

The stickers came about because so few people do vote that, I believe, folks thought that some kind of reminder might jog some memories to do the same. But when comedian Chris Rock disparaged people who said, "I take care of my kids" as though it was a medal-worthy achievement, he said, "Whattaya want, a cookie? That's what you're supposed to do!" I feel similarly about the idea that I should brag about having done one of the very few things I'm supposed to do as a citizen of the United States.

But there is a very good feeling that accompanies voting. Not the sense of participating in my nation's republic, although that is pretty darn cool when you think about it. No, what really feels good about voting is that, by your choices on the ballot, you get to say, "Talk to the hand," to the people who have relied on demagoguery and disinformation to try to sway voters their way. You can say, "Hasta la vista, baby," to candidates whose shameless misuse and manipulation of the facts represents some of the worst our system has to offer. You can say, "Make a new plan, Stan," to career politicians who figure that since they've run out their string at one level of public office they'll get voted in at another so they can keep feeding at the taxpayer's trough.

People spend a lot of money to get elected to public office. They buy ads, they buy signs, they pay campaign staffs, and so on. And yet, for free, you and I get to tell more than half of them, "Bite me."

You can't get much more American than that.