The depressing thing about going to vote is that all the poll workers, and all the other voters, are ancient. There was a palpable silence when I walked into the polls and walked up to the folding tables to sign in. I felt, I imagine, like a lot of women felt shortly after they gained the right to vote–visibly unwanted. It’s curious that by not voting, the youth have contributed to a swell of resentment among older people which manifests when we do appear to take advantage of our civil rights. I can only hope that a larger youth contingent will show up at the polls later in the evening, when the hipsters come out to play.
I also really enjoy it when the poll workers make fun of my name. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know that old people have no problem with being as crass and rude as the youth can be. Hope for society still lives!
Assuming anyone actually reads this, and is from California or Ohio, why don’t you tell me about your day at the polls?