It's almost nine 'o' clock when I started writing this, God knows when I'll finish it, and whilst you're dozing cuddly with your loved one, stuffed animal or stuffed loved one, I was out this morning voting. I don't think I'm better than you in anyway, I wake up early every morning, I'm unemployed, I'm up at six-thirty or seven every morning, I am nothing more than Phil Connors from Groundhog Day but without purpose, wit or a beautiful early 90's co-star.
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| Damn, Andy McDowell, what happened to you?! |
But like Phil Connors, my apprehension about human contact, specifically with people who I don't care too much about because I don't know them enough. Since I'm not Rebecca Black, I had bacon and eggs for breakfast and lounged around for a bit till about eight and then headed out. I arrived at the polling place, a school a short walk from my house, but fuck it, I needed to get petrol this morning. I parked almost a block away from the actual place because the tightly confined streets had been turned into a temporary car graveyard, which I had to manoeuvre around in my own brightly-coloured metal death trap.
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| What is young Keanu Reeves doing to Jennifer Aniston? |
I got out of my car, feeling the cold wind suddenly strike up and made me wish I was wearing a jacket and that I wasn't out here like a dope at eight in the morning whilst everyone is busy having a good morning and are happy or being pandered too all morning from Sunrise and Today and whatever else is on TV on Saturday mornings that I decided to never watch again after I was thirteen. The first thing I encounter on my quest to have my voice 'heard' (read?) are the same three or four people outside the gates who make you feel sorry for them. They probably have no real affiliation with the parties they're handing out their pamphlets for and if they are, you feel even more sorry. They're probably not even getting paid.
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| Gettin' Paid, Gettin' laid |
Meanwhile, inside. the people who are actually helping slowly crossing out your name, handing you pieces of paper, telling you where to go and helping the older people fold their vote and put into a nice white cardboard box, are getting paid. One of my friends (and probably only reader), is actually working there this morning and being paid pretty well, when all she really wants is a reference. If she had any real political preference (that I knew about) I'm sure she could con a job in with some other Labor, Green or Liberal affiliated work, like an abortion clinic, a Greenpeace boat or a slaughterhouse...because my idea of a political job is stuck all the way back in 1975.
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| They're doing what now? |
After taking a pamphlet on how to vote, because I always feel like I need a refresher course just in case they decided to change something, like sacrificing via seppuku, the third person line behind you or anyone who tries to push in. That's one thing I find amusing is that no matter what kind of queue or line, someone will push in. If it was a line for free blowjobs from a Herpes-infested Paris Hilton, people would be pushing and shoving, just to get it over and done with.
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| So regular Paris Hilton? |
