Borrowed Breath

So last night we got to our polling place. The line came out of the building, down the sidewalk and around the corner. It looked an awful lot like the lines you saw on tv last night. Inwardly I groaned at the thought of waiting an hour and a half or more to vote. But I immediately thought of all those in this world who would wait all day if it meant having a say in deciding who their next leader is going to be.

We got to the end of the line.
A woman walked up to us and asked, “Does your last name start with M to Z?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Well,” she said, “You can go to the front of the line.”
Michelle and I looked at each other wondering if this was some kind of joke.
As we started to follow the woman, she smiled and said, “It’ll cost you five dollars.”
“I’ll give you ten,” I replied.
She laughed and said they should have started charging people earlier.

We walked past all of the waiting voters.
It felt a little bit like cheating.
We were taken right up to the front of the line.
The volunteer on the right side of the table asked if we were M to Z.
We confirmed, showed our registration card and ID, were handed a ballot and were directed to a privacy booth to fill in our little ovals.

We took them up to the scanner.
It processed our votes.
And then we left, walking by those same voters who had moved just a few steps from the spot they were when we arrived.

It was pretty cool…for us.

I told Michelle it was good she married me.
Her maiden name is Hoover.