Democracy doesn't work. Nor do human beings

As I waited patiently in line to file my special ballot in our new neighborhood I watched as an old woman voted for the very first time in her life, and I had a welling up of love for this deeply flawed country of ours. As she struggled through the handout, filling out portions that she wasn't supposed to, I actually felt proud that we live in a nation that would allow someone to "have their voice heard." The people who had been working in the polling station all day were relentlessly polite, offering S a chair, and continually apologizing for the time we had to wait to get our address change fixed. I sat next to S, seven months pregnant, the only white folks in the joint, and felt good about democracy.

It was at this point that I was asked to give the people an electronic signature to confirm my voting status. However, since I the cord couldn't stretch out long enough, I got up out of my seat and walked around two other people to put down my old John Hancock, attempting to not disturb that elderly woman at her business of being democratic. And as I leaned up from putting my signature down, I heard the polling lady say, "Is something wrong sir?" to the guy sitting next to me.

Guy: I'm trying to finish writing and this guy is getting in my way. Mind you, even if I was in his way, I actually needed to finish my paperwork in order for his to be processed.

Relentlessly nice polling lady Kathryn who called a number of people baby in an endearing way: "We're all working in tight spaces here."

Obnoxious guy who I briefly contemplate murdering: "It's not that tight."

Kathryn then looked up at me with her eyes brimming with kindness and patience and thanked me for waiting and directed me to the polling station lady, who was also relentlessly nice and sweet, and just the sort of person who you want working in a polling station, which is no doubt a grueling and annoying process. And as I voted all I could think about was how angry I was that obnoxious guy could get away with being such a dbag. I wanted the freedom to punch him in the mouth. However, besides not being the sort of person who does that thing, I was in a police station and had only moments before been brimming with hope and excitement over our good old democratic system.

As we left S asked me how I was doing, and I relayed the story about the obnoxious guy to her. (S had been off exercising her right to vote in the meantime. And the conversation took place outside after Kathryn and the other nice lady whose name I should have gotten thanked us for voting and gave us those little stickers that say I voted on them, which make me feel a little bit proud in a way that maybe a Toby Keith song does for some others.) And as I'm relaying the story I find myself getting upset a second time, (I think I need to spend some QT at an ashram on an upcoming vacation) and I say, in conclusion, "f--k democracy. Stupid people shouldn't be allowed to vote." A quote that seems to nicely sum up my general feelings about the obnoxious guy and the "populist" movement currently "sweeping" the nation, and I wondered about the merits of a good old benevolent dictatorship.


S: (After finishing dinner) Can you clean up the dishes while I go upstairs?

M: I don't think so.

S: Why not?

M: That's not really my role.

S: What is your role?

M: I tend to see myself more as a philosopher king in the Platonic mold.