I was slightly nervous. Even debated bringing a number two pencil -- you know, like for the GREs. They never have enough and it always seemed like the super-collegiate and responsible thing to do.
In the end, I opted for pigtails and my "You Can't Get This In The States" t-shirt -- which in hindsight seems worthy of some kind of John Stewart comment.
I voted. I cast my ballot. Punched the little holes with the intriguing machine. Lined up the ballot with the plastic propostion card. Debated for split seconds, even though I'd already memorized what my responses would be.
So here's the thing.
It worked. Nobody tried to kill me or steal my vote or picket my cute little booth, plastering the area with propaganda. Nobody was unfriendly. In fact, the whole experience was refreshingly reminiscent of tea-with-grandma. Minus the cookies and squares of milk chocolate.
So next time you're in the whining mood, remember that we have choices. And power. And reside in a country where opinions count. At least most of the time.
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