Super Tuesday

Yesterday, I went to vote in the primaries. Child drove me to the polling station, but when I saw the two-hour long line, I told Child that I changed my mind and I'd just vote in November. She countered with "Who cares about the presidential elections? Your vote only really counts in the primaries." I countered with, "This is Utah, and a Mormon is running for president. If you're voting for Romney, is your vote really necessary in either of the elections?"

Sure enough, Romney took the Utah primaries with 90% of the vote, followed distantly by McCain with 5%. Still, I guess it's a good thing to exercise your civic duty.

Anyway, Child left me to stand for two hours in the hallway while she went off and did other things. While slowly shuffling along, I got a little bored. Child saved the text messages I started sending her, but I'll reproduce them here for your convenience.

Lonely...I'm so lonely...

Day 3: it seems like I've been stranded here for months. The fluorescent lights are beating down...No water or food. No sign of rescue, but am building a fire.

Can feel myself going crazy--am contemplating voting Huckabee. Another survivor slaps sense into me...signal fire unsuccessful. Ate leg.

Reached end of hallway! Line curves and goes back up other wall. Am standing next to fire alarm. Temptation is strong. Realize evacuation would reset line. Bad.

Discovery: shouting "vote Huckabee!" at a Mormon polling station equivelent to shouting "fire!" in crowded theater. Also bad.

Actually, I really did shout "Vote Huckabee" while in line, just to see if I could get a brawl to break out, and from somewhere up the line, someone called back, "Vote Romney!" Child told me I should have called back, "OK!"

The main reason for the lengthy wait was that some genius in the election office decided to combine several precincts into one voting area, but they didn't increase the number of old people manning those books where they check off your name. The process wasn't very efficient either: the first old guy would ask your name, then put a checkmark next to it in a giant book. The second old guy would also ask your name, then write it down (a lengthy process since he was like 90 years old) in his own book. It seemed a little redundant.

The voting itself took about 30 seconds, and to back up my claim that the old people were the hold-up, there was only one, and occasionally two people actually at any of the five electronic voting machines at any given time.