Democracy
By Tom Mahony

I voted today. I was the only voter in the polling place or, it seemed, within a quarter mile. Yet two dozen senior citizens manned the tables like some gray-haired neighborhood watch.

They treated me like royalty. When I approached a table and announced my name, three people grabbed their voter rolls and raced through the pages, seeing who could check me off first. Then a woman appeared and ushered me five feet down the table, where I was eagerly queried, "Paper or electronic ballot?"

I rubbed my chin in contemplation. The place went silent. I opened my mouth to speak. Everyone leaned forward.

"I think I'll go paper," I said.

An excited murmur rippled through the room, as if there'd been some side betting going on. The guy in charge of the electronic voting machine frowned. I gave him an apologetic shrug. Someone handed me a ballot mysteriously cloaked inside a folder. I was escorted to a booth, handed a pen, and shown how to use it, though it seemed quite obvious.

I filled out my ballot and returned it to the table. My escort approached and asked how it went, as if I'd just finished an upscale meal.

"Fine," I said. "Just great. No problems at all."

She smiled and glanced around and everyone smiled back and I couldn't help but smile myself.

A man took my ballot and folder, tore a receipt off the top, and handed the rest back to me. I stood there in confusion. He explained that I had to drop it in the ballot box. I tried but the folder flared slightly and wouldn't fit through the narrow slot. There was a moment of tension, a worried buzz through the crowd.

Had I ruined everything?

But then he told me to open the folder above the slot and let the ballot slide through. It worked, and the tension dissipated.

A bright-eyed woman, the youngest of the bunch at around sixty-five, asked me if I wanted a sticker that said, "I voted." I politely declined. The sparkle left her eyes. Her sole mission in the polling place was to hand out those stickers.

"Actually," I said, "I will take one. Two if you can spare it. For my kid."

She beamed and nodded and handed over three stickers. "And one for your wife," she said, winking.

I thanked her and walked toward the door with all eyes upon me. I stopped, turned to the gallery, and considered offering a few words about the importance of the occasion and the wonders of democracy. But I just nodded, thanked them for their kindness, and stepped through the door.

As I basked in the November sunshine and inhaled the beautiful stench of democracy out-gassing from the polling place I realized that, except for the pathetic collection of ass-clowns I had to choose from on the ballot, the whole experience was perfect.

Just perfect.

——

Tom Mahony is a biological consultant in California with an M.S. degree from Humboldt State University. His fiction has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has appeared in dozens of online and print publications, including Surfer Magazine, Flashquake, The Rose & Thorn, Pindeldyboz, In Posse Review, Boston Literary Magazine, 34th Parallel, Diddledog, Foliate Oak, and Decomp. He is looking for a publisher for several novels. Visit him at tommahony.net.

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