You know what to do.
I arrived at the polling place at 7:10 a.m., ten minutes after the polls opened. I had to drive around the large parking lot to find a place to park. I drove the Pontiac with the Ontario plates in full display just to freak out any right-wing nutter poll-watcher (Imagined confrontation: “Hey, are you Canadian?” “No, but the car is, and it’s old enough to vote, too!”) By the time I got to the entrance to the church parish hall, there was a line of sixteen people out the door.
When I finally got in and waited to check in, I stood behind a young guy, and I overheard him tell the clerk his birthday. He was born in 2000, and I found out later that this was his first election. I told him, “Welcome to the fight.” I don’t care who he voted for; if he voted the opposite of me, we cancelled each other out, and if he vote with me, then so much the better. At least he voted.
The ballot was four pages with two sides to page. In addition to the state and local races, there were constitutional amendments and county referendums, and a question to increase the local millage to give teachers and instructional support staff a raise. Not a tough choice on that one.
I finished in about fifteen minutes and the line had shrunk to where everyone was inside the hall, but there was still a line. As I left I was stopped by a local reporter who asked if I vote in every election. Yes, I replied, starting in 1972 at the Oak Avenue fire station in Coconut Grove, about ten miles from here, and it won’t be my last.
If you don’t vote, you don’t count.