Good Citizens

I voted early late yesterday. It was an interesting exercise in civic virtue and endurance.

5:10 p.m. -- Found a parking spot in the nearly full lot across the street from the county office and got in line. I'm less than fifteen feet from the entrance. Unfortunately the line goes the other way, down the length of the building into another parking lot, disappears around the corner and comes back again alongside the building to the door. Some female DJ has set up just past the door and is urging people to get excited, clap, cheer and dance in line while she alternates playing patriotic songs ("Anchors Aweigh," "The Ballad of the Green Berets," "The Caissons Go Rolling Along") and Village People hits (unless "In the Navy" is considered a patriotic song now). At least, in this segment of the line, we are slowly shuffling away from her.

5:25 p.m. -- The sun is shining, the air is warm, the sky is cloudless and deep with sixteen buzzards lazily circling together high overhead sharing a single thermal. The short Cuban woman immediately in front of me is reading her Nook. We've made some progress and the line has filled in behind us but we can still hear the music. The cameraman from the local Fox station has panned the crowd a couple of times and is leaving.

5:35 p.m. -- The two rather large young women behind me are on a cell phone: "We're going to the rodeo tomorrow night. Ask him if he wants us to take his truck there and sell it. There'll be, like, a thousand cowboys there."

5:50 p.m. -- We have reached the first turn. The line is revealed to be sort of golf club-shaped and we have traveled down the length of the shaft and are just starting across the base of the club head. The flock of buzzards has drifted off to the east.

6:05 p.m. -- I have a better view of the crowd as it loops around. There are people of European, African and Asian extraction, some in mixed groups, and a few unidentifiables. There are singles, couples and families, older folks with large bellies and tractor caps, young people with very short and very long hair, a couple of shirt and tie types and -- this being Florida -- a whole slew of Bermuda shorts and polo shirts.

6:10 p.m. -- Starting the second hour. The whole bottom-of-the-club-head part of the line, being in the parking lot, has to shuffle around like an immobile conga line to allow two cars that we have surrounded to leave. We imitate a rough sine wave. Both vehicles escape. No one loses their place. The Cuban woman looks up from her story to tell me how impressed she is that we Americans are actually willing to stand in line this long for anything.

6:15 p.m. -- We have reached the second turn and are now moving toward the top of the club head. People who are part of groups are temporarily dropping out of line to go sit on the curb. One gentleman is leaning against a Dumpster and the family a couple of people in front of the Cuban woman who is back to reading her Nook have split up with the mom taking the baby and carriage off somewhere.

6:40 p.m. -- The third turn. We are now starting across the top of the club head. We are also, at last, on the sidewalk that circles the building. Which means, we are also, finally, headed toward the entrance to the polling station. It gives us a sense of accomplishment. The sun goes down. Although the sky stays yellow and pale blue, without clouds the air cools quickly. Somewhere behind the rodeo girls, I overhear one couple talking to another about how they have friends in Illinois. I hear the words "their senator" and "well, they ought to know, then" but cannot tell either from context or tone of voice whether they are praising Obama or damning him.

6:55 p.m. -- The building exterior lights come on. Although the sky overhead has turned indigo, toward the horizon it's still pinkish orange creating intricately delicate silhouettes from the palm trees. The rodeo girls are talking with a young Nicaraguan woman who is voting for the first time. From what I can gather one of their horses (it's hard to tell from the names. They could just as easily be discussing a ranch hand) got in with the goats and scared them.

7:00 p.m. -- The final turn. From here its a straight line to the front door down a long narrow pink stucco arched arcade dripping with giant spider webs spun around and under the recessed ceiling lights (which is really pretty smart when you think about it because that's exactly where the moths and other night insects are going to go) and which the numerous, and very large, spiders are busy repairing and expanding. We remark on something we have all noticed: Although we see people being let in in groups, we have not seen anyone leaving. I suggest they're storing voters in a large underground vault, but one of the rodeo girls insists that if you don't vote for Obama, they just kill you right there. Can't tell if she approves or not.

7:10 p.m. -- Start of the third hour.  The reactions of the people when they turn that corner and recognize the final gauntlet they must negotiate is amusing. Several, including the larger of the rodeo girls, decide to step out of the arcade and move along on the lawn parallel to the line. The line itself develops knots and gaps as people bunch up between light fixtures and avoid standing directly under webs. The spiders do have a tendency to jiggle around and occasionally drop a foot or two before catching themselves.

7:20 p.m. -- The larger rodeo girl rejoins us and the Nicaraguan amuses herself by playing "what's that on your shoulder?" with her. The Nicaraguan then begins to imagine that creepy things are on her but I let her know it's just karma crawling up her back.

7:25 p.m. -- There is a stifled scream behind us and we turn to see an open circle of six people staring at their feet. Apparently, a spider lost its footing, but they all bravely stomped it.

7:35 p.m. -- We're at the door! It is being guarded by a sweet little old lady of iron will and steel determination. She asks how many in our group (which we have sort of become over the course of the evening) and when one of the rodeo girls pipes up, "Table for eight, please," shuts the door in front of the Cuban woman.

7:40 p.m. -- We actually see some people leave and the gatekeeper lady lets the Cuban and me in. We are greeted by another line, this one to present IDs. There are three stations but only one in use. As we stand there a second station opens up. The rodeo girls and the Nicaraguan are let in. I say, "That's what you get for being a smart-ass," to the one who requested the table and she grins.

7:45 p.m. -- The Cuban lady and I present ID. Basically, you swipe your driver's license (or other acceptable form of ID including credit or debit card(!?! Seriously, WTF? debit or credit card?) Mine is fine but it turns out the Cuban lady has requested and received an absentee ballot and does not have it with her or proof that she did not already use it and so, after two hours and 35 minutes in line, she is taken away.

7:50 p.m. -- I sign electronically that I am not committing voter fraud and am sent to the next table where my ballot is printed out. I am told that, in this county, thanks to various local offices, referenda and initiatives, there are 32 possible different ballots. Every voter gets a custom one based on their precinct. mine is four large sheets, printed on both sides.

7:55 p.m. -- I manage to find the only sit down voting station in the building.

8:10 p.m. -- Beginning hour four.

8:15 p.m. -- I finish marking my ballot, put it in the protective "privacy jacket" and take it to the vote counting machine where, under the very-careful-not-to-notice-how-you-voted scrutiny of a poll worker I, after verifying my identity, feed the sheets into the machine. I give them back their pen and "privacy jacket" and they give me an "I Voted" sticker.

8:20 p.m. -- The rodeo girls and the Nicaraguan are finishing up the same time I am. We're all veterans now so we just nod and smile a little and say "goodbye." The parking lot is almost empty when I retrieve my car.

I find out later the Cuban lady had to cast a provisional ballot until the County Clerk's office can track down her absentee ballot. She spent all that time in line Friday because she works two jobs both Saturday, the last day of early voting, and Tuesday, election day. I, of course, have no idea who she voted for but with that kind of dedication this country's in good shape.