Welcome to The Hoosier Illuminati. Macintosh bigot, clothes horse, motorsports fanatic (as long as they turn right), Anglophile.

Clothes and manners do not make the man; but when he is made, they greatly improve his appearance. --Henry Ward Beecher

My civic duty

I felt a little queasy as I entered the polling location.  I had my drivers license in my hand, ready to show the election clerk.  “Geez, what a hassle,” I thought to myself, “I can certainly see what a disadvantage it is to some voters to have to extract a card from their wallets.” The very pretty young clerk handed my license back to me and told the older gentleman my name. 

“Are you voting Republican, sir?” There’s always the presumption here that you are going to vote Republican, but this year?  Well, this year is different.  I must have hesitated just a bit too long before responding because he asked me again.  “Sir?  Are you voting Republican?”

“D… Dem...”

Crap.  I couldn’t say it.  I’ve never said it before, and the word just wouldn’t leave my mouth.

“Democrat, sir?”

“Yes, that one.”

“Very good, please step to your right and sign the book.” Clearly he’d had to help others though this already today and I appreciate that he didn’t seem to be holding it against me, it was as if he understood.  He marked the ‘D’ box and turned the book around so I could sign.  I stared at the book for a moment, stared at the box marked ‘D’ which I was fairly sure was pulsing red.  I hoped no one I knew heard any of this exchange. 

“Sir, if you’re ready you can step right in here,” said the next clerk.  She gave me a quick explanation of how to use our county’s new machine, but I don’t believe I heard a word of it.  She stepped away and there I was, alone for the first time with a Democrat primary ballot spread before me.  It felt kind of dirty, sort of like going in an adult bookstore.

There it was.  PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.  There were two choices.  Barack Obama.  Hillary Clinton.  It felt like I stood there for an eternity, my hands shaking as my finger touched the button, and suddenly it was over.  I had done it.  I had actually done it.

I voted for Hillary Clinton. 

I stumbled away from the booth and out the door, numb, feeling like I might throw up at any second.  I had to beep my car horn to find it in the lot because my vision was a little blurry.  Somehow I managed to hit the unlock button and flop down inside the car.  I don’t even remember driving back to work, but the next thing I remembered was sitting in my chair in my office, my head still throbbing and my knees still a bit weak.  “Maybe it was a nightmare,” I thought to myself, “Maybe I didn’t really do it,” but I looked down at my jacket lapel and there it was… a sticker proclaiming that I had, in fact, voted.

It was time for me to come to grips with the reality of my situation.  Not only had I requested a Democrat ballot, but I voted for Hillary Clinton. 

Intentionally. 

I felt a little dizzy, a bit disoriented, but there I was.  A Hillary Clinton voter. 

A Democrat. 

God, has it really come to this? 

Look, I know what you’re thinking.  He’s lost his mind.  He’s had some kind of… episode, or something.  No, dammit, I do not need to see a professional about this.  I mean, it’s not like I’ll vote for her in the general or anything, but I have to do what I can to keep Che Obama out of the Oval Office.  I don’t support Hillary, but at least we know what we’re getting with her.  She’s no blank slate with no program any more sophisticated than “CHANGE YOU CAN BELIEVE IN” and “BUSH SUCKS” as if Bush were his opponent in November or something. 

I’m sorry, I don’t like this any more than you do, but I had to do what I had to do.  Still, if you don’t feel like you can come around here anymore, if you’re afraid you’re watching the beginning of a long, slow decline into becoming a member of the ass party, I understand.  Dire times call for dire measures, and damned if this doesn’t feel like one of those, but hey, I still understand if it’s something you just can’t deal with.  I’m having trouble dealing with it myself, so how can I imagine you’ll handle it?  I guess what I’m saying is that I hope this doesn’t change the way you feel about me, but if it does, well, I understand.  I hope we can still be friends. 

Thanks,
The Hoosier Illuminati