Canada, anyone?

I am not the most patriotic person in the world. But today, I wore red, white and blue and went to the polls with a huge smile on my face and a Vince Flynn novel "Transfer of Power" in hand anxious to cast my vote.

When the 90-year-old lady behind me started screaming about how the Taliban is voting for Obama to win, I got a bit annoyed but I stayed quiet. After all, today is a glorious happy day where we show what this country stands for and nothing could bring me down.

Last year I voted absentee and so this year while I stood in line reading the directions over and over, foregoing my novel to know exactly how the levers worked. I looked upon those black covered booths with excitement — despite the fact that our district was the largest of three but had the least amount of booths — nothing could stop my overeagerness.

As I get up to the front of the line an overwhelming large lady in a "Your village called their idiot is missing" tshirt (I couldn't make this up) barked at me "What are the last three letters of your name?"

Huh? I looked at her and said "I'm sorry ma'am what did you say" "THE LAST THREE LETTERS OF YOUR NAME?!" I handed her my registration card, confused. She threw it back at me and said "I DONT NEED THAT!" I say to myself, 'Okay keep your anger in check and calmly respond to this moronic demon lady who is controlling your right to vote.' "Ma'am I think you mean the first three letters of my last name." "NO, THATS NOT WHAT I MEAN!"

So I give her the last three letters of my last name, which although it made no sense to me was what she had asked for. After all, who was I, an Ivy League college graduate, to question this lady who was chosen to run the polls? She proceeded to look up last names that started with E so I smiled politely and said, "Ma'am. I think you want the first three letters of my last name." She looked up at me, laughed, and said to the guy next to her, "This girl does not understand I want the last three" — caught herself. Looked up and said "What is your last name?" as she glared at me. So I tell her, she looks it up, points to the list and says "Are you Michael?"

"No" I tell her ever so nicely. "I am not Michael." I repeat my full name I had told/showed her at the beginning of this fiasco. "Well you aren't here check the other districts." 

At this point I am ready to strangle this woman. "Ma'am if you would look at my registration card you would see this is the district I am in." The man sitting next to her grabs my card, pushes it in front of her as she has already moved on to the next lucky voter, and points to the district. "What the hell am I supposed to do about it? I'm not the only one working here." The man yells at her "GIVE HER A PAPER BALLOT." 

Hands me one, asks if I have a pen (luckily I came prepared for the US of A to be totally messed up) and I take my paper ballot that looks like what I filled out when I voted for 7th grade class president and I fill in the bubbles. Next to me another happy citizen was getting yelled at by an electoral helper as they got into a screaming match over what her address was.

I turn in my envelope to the old man — who by the way never checked my license — and he stares at it blankly not knowing what option to check for his part he has to fill out. I helpfully say "I think I registered too late for this district and that is why you don't have me on the list" and then point to where I think he should check. He dutifully listens to me although at this point I have no idea what is going on, and then places my long awaited - heavily anticipated - sacred vote next to him on the table. I ask him what he is going to do with it and he attempts to reassure me saying he "will take care of it." As I'm about to question if there might be — you know — a ballot box for that to be put in the Village Idiot Herself starts screaming that "IF THAT VOTING MACHINE BREAKS ONE MORE F-ING TIME I AM OUT OF HERE!!!!"

Lady, I hear you. I am out of here too, although I might be going further away then out of the building.