On this foggy, unseasonably warm morning I arrived at my township hall about a minute after 7:00 a.m. It was difficult to find a spot for my vehicle; and a significant line already snaked down the main hallway, out the door and into the parking lot.
I got in line, and was quickly followed by others. My township is heavily skewed toward retirees, and usually on election days I'm one of the few people present discernably under 70. But this morning a good proportion of voters were younger people; I saw many younger men in work jackets embroidered with their names. A couple of teenagers were nervously shifting from foot to foot in the queue.
The man behind me started talking to me. "I got two guys at work who are always complaining about 'the government' this and 'the government' that. I tell them, 'If you can't bother to vote, then you can't complain.'" He paused for effect. "And I don't see them here this morning."
The conversation in line was quiet; mostly non-political; talk about going to work or going out for breakfast when we were done.
And we waited. And waited. And waited.
As the line slowly crept inside the hall, I started feeling uncharitable toward the voters up ahead, already at the machines. What is taking you so long? I thought as one guy in Carhartts lingered in his station for a full 15 minutes, head in hand. Have you not thought about how you were going to vote until now? What could you possibly still be deciding?
It was 7:40 when I finally got a ballot in my hand.
I hope you did, or do, too.