Not normally a superstitious person, I was reticent to trundle down to my polling station and cast my vote in the 2016 presidential election. After all, in 2008 and again in 2012, my guy got shellacked.
I had an 8:45 AM appointment with my pulmonologist during which I learned that there had been an issue with the refrigerator used to store vaccines for the flu and pneumonia. After I left the doctor’s office I went to my local pharmacy and got both shots. I was feeling slightly invincible. “How about a bite to eat and then girding your loins to tackle that early vote?” I asked myself.
I pointed the car in the direction of my polling station to find folks lined up around the building and out to the street. I thought about aborting my plans, but reasoned that the lines weren’t going to get any shorter so I parked the car and assumed my position in line.
People were friendly. No one was on their phone. Some conversations were fairly audible, others were hushed. About 20 minutes in, I heard a woman somewhere in the back of the line begin to hack and wheeze and cough. I thought, “This is my chance to be a real smartass.” So…I hollered quizzically, “Hillary? Is that you?” The reaction from those in line was priceless. “Lock her up! Lock her up!” they chanted. I made a funny.
When I finally made it inside and a poll worker escorted me to my voting machine, I looked down at the first screen totally unprepared for the impact of seeing the name of the first ever unindicted felon on the ballot for President of the United States. This was a moment in history—a chance to stake my political claim—to stop a corrupt bitch from being coronated.
Today, I canceled out Colin Powell’s vote.