Election Day

It is the day of decision here, the dramatic show-down between two white men in the middle 40’s who will take the state either screeching to the right, or catapulting to the left.

Actually, they will do neither. There are only two elections with national implications happening in the country today. There is the one that I will participate in here, and the one in New York, where Mayor Blumberg will be re-elected, a popular Republican in an overwhelmingly Democratic city.

The Governor of Virginia has limited power to do much of anything, except formulate the budget. The Republican- I forget his name- is a downstate politician who was the Attorney General. The Democrat- whose face is familiar because of the way his left eyebrow curls up- says he will enforce the laws, even if he finds some of them personally repugnant.

That covers so much territory that I have to agree with him. Sometimes I am so overcome with repugnance that I can barely get myself to leave the house in the morning.

The polling station is over at Culpepper Garden , the assisted living building that faces the north end of Big Pink. I poured coffee into a travel cup of and walked over to do my civic duty a few minutes after the polls officially opened at six.

It was still dark, of course. An ancient Alfa-Romeo in the lot gleamed at me. Someone had left their lights on last night coming in, and the battery was failing. The low gleam made the car look like an insect. I stopped to do the right thing, and my hand paused as I reached for the door handle to reach in and turn them off.

Could it be booby-trapped? Mind your own business, I thought. It is a new world.

I carried the election guide that the Democrats mailed to me last week. I intended to use it as a point of departure. In the last General Election the polling place was a madhouse at opening time, the line snaking around the block. I figured I could study the list of candidates as I waited, but there was no line.

I walked into the recreation room where the machines were set up and the usual volunteers were there; Don from the seventh floor, nd the old woman who parks next to me in the basement. A couple young people, and Bill, the white-haired bureaucrat who is the Precinct Captain.

Don checked me off the master list, Casey checked me off on the tally sheet and gave me my card to present to the young woman who was directing the early risers to the machines. I handed over my card, Ed activated the machine, and there I stood, ready to use the touch-screen to exercise my constitutional rights.

I will not disclose my vote, since it is my privilege to maintain privacy in this matter. Suffice it to say that I used the voters guide as a point of departure. It was the first time in years that I did not vote the straight party ticket, and I think everyone will be pleased, with the exception of the losers.

The House of Delegates was a problem. I did not know the candidate for the 47 th district, and there was no one running against him. This is a solidly Democratic Precinct, and apparently there was no Republican foolish to waste their time on the campaign. Consequently, I decided to vote amphibian. I touched the screen and went to the “write in” menu and typed in “KERMIT THE FROG.”

There were no issues of referenda to decide. I wish there had been, perhaps an initiative to say that I do not want our officials to turn a blind eye to mounting social problems that will blow out the bottom of our society. There was no bond issue to retire the national debt before it crushes our children. There was no proposition to take control of our borders, or one to say: Wake up, you idiots!

I guess that will have to wait until next November. In the meantime, I did not want to encourage the people who are driving the bus, nor give succor to those fools who want to replace them.

I left the polling place after a brisk five minute exercise of the franchise. I think I whistled on the way home. When I got to the parking lot at Big Pink, I saw the lights to the Alfa were just about gone. I decided to do the right thing and turn them off. I walked up to the car and lifted the chrome latch on the driver’s side door.

It was unlocked, but when I opened the door I saw that the instrument panel had been gutted, and the wiring hung in wild disarray from behind the steering column. There was a switch in the midst of the cat’s cradle, but I was reluctant to touch it. It could have been the ignition, or the detonator. Couldn’t tell.

I shrugged and resigned myself to the idea that someone would have a dead battery. Then I walked to the condo by the pool, where the leaves are deep on the green tarpaulin that covers it. I unlocked the door and tossed my keys on the table. The radio said that the French authorities were slow to respond to almost two weeks of rioting because even on a normal day, with no insurrection in progress, over eighty cars are torched.

I blinked at that, and then shrugged. Those idiots should have woken up sooner. But I imagine they are awake now. I think maybe I will work on a Proposition to that effect for next year’s general election.

Copyright 2005 Vic Socotra

www.vicsocotra.com

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