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I don’t normally think about kicking old women into the gutter, despite anything you may have read on the police blotter, but this one really raised my ire, because, in a trice, she represented an entire class of people who deserve every ounce of contempt my little black heart can muster. Who are these scoundrels? Who is it that causes the spontaneous ignition of my tinder-dry hatred? People who don’t vote, that’s who. Some punk kid (gloriously, I am now old enough to start using that term) had been hired by unknown parties to loiter in front of the supermarket and ask everyone exiting the building whether or not they were registered to vote. He was armed with a pocketful of pens and a number of voter registration forms rubber-banded to a clipboard. I detected no campaign materials of any kind about his person, and, later, when he asked me if I was registered to vote, he made no attempt to solicit my opinion on any political matter, or, indeed, to make any kind of small talk. I was outside talking on the phone, prior to my search for comestibles, and the fellow was doing his job, asking people if they were registered to vote. My attention was initially absorbed elsewhere, but I couldn’t help listening to this crone’s loud, vehement responses to this most nobly civic-minded of questions. After she replied that she wasn’t registered to vote, he tried, of course, to get her onto the rolls. Their exchange went like this:
After screaming at this poor guy, who hadn’t been in her face or anything, she angrily pushed her cart away as fast as her wrinkled, scabrous legs could possibly manage the task. Whatever the hell her problem was, I don’t know. Perhaps she’d been gang-raped by a roving band of precinct captains as a youth, or suffered from an acute allergy to patriotic bunting. Instead of these somewhat more fanciful theories, though, I posit instead that she was simply a raging bitch. This was reason enough to administer a hardy measure of pedal kinesis to her ossified haunches, but why such an extreme reaction to voting? I thought about this as I purchased my groceries. On the way out, the kid asked me if I was registered to vote, and I proudly affirmed this. I stopped my cart and made an idle comment about his shabby treatment at the hands of the old hag, to which he responded with a politely noncommital smile and shrug. I asked him how many people blow him off or refuse to register. He quoted a figure of 30%. I didn’t dig any deeper to find out how that broke down between those who just ignored him and those miserable failures who decline to do their duty, though I think it’s reasonable to assume that a large amount of the latter would be counted among the former. Thirty percent! Pretty much one in three. Astounding. Yet even this figure pales in comparison with the statistics showing that only 51.3% of us, nationwide, could actually be bothered to drag their fucking carcasses to the booths. (Proud Minnesota had the best showing, at 69.8%, while the slackass Hawaiians brought up the rear with a shameful 40.5%). Overall, that’s pretty messed up, given the importance of voting. That’s right, it’s Important, with a capital "I", but too many people just don’t get that message. Are you one of them? If so, maybe you don’t vote because you think "my vote doesn’t count". Well, since the last Presidential election was decided by a margin of only 537 votes, that rather blows your excuse out of the water, doesn’t it? Maybe you don’t vote becase "they’re all corrupt, and it doesn’t matter who wins". Did you ever stop to think that maybe if we all actually paid attention to candidates and the issues, we might stand a chance of weeding out some of these losers? Some people pay far more attention to whether or not the beans in their six-dollar cup of coffee came from Popayan or Narino. "I’m too lazy" really doesn’t sound like a good excuse, does it? Then there’s my personal favorite, "politics doesn’t affect my life anyway". Sure, right, like the politics that founded this country that gave you the unfortunate right to think that. The politics that created the laws to give you that bullshit parking ticket, make you pay taxes, and stand in line at the DMV. The politics that ultimately allow you to watch porn, drink beer on the Sabbath as you kick back in front of the TV, or not have to worry about your door being kicked in by the police because you practice the wrong religion. The politics that created the stable foundation that lead to enough freedom and wealth so that you can sit on your can, reading this website on the technological marvel that is your computer, from the comfort of wherever it is you are. Sure, politics don’t affect your life at all, no sir. I’ll cut to the point. Get your ass out there and VOTE in November, because otherwise, someday, you’re in for a rather nasty surprise when the rest of us show up at your door for National Fucking You With Steak Knives Day and all you can recall, in your bewilderment, is that you tuned out last week on some hazy notion of people discussing something boring like kitchen utensils. I’ll be the one ringing your bell. |
When one entertains the thought of briskly serving up a portion of shoe leather to the hindquarters of a fellow living creature, it’s usually in the context of smaller, younger, annoying individuals who so richly deserve their Shinola suppository. As such, I was surprised to find myself thinking about dishing out a dose to a septuagenarian woman at my local supermarket.