One of my quirks is I don’t do standing very well. Moving around, okay, sitting, okay, but just standing still, I can get faint fairly quickly; it’s a falling-blood-pressure thing. So. Since a number of people seemed to be having problems with the machines, the line of voters was going quite slowly, and I decided sitting down on the floor was better than playing drama queen and getting there less voluntarily.
A poll worker ran to go get me a chair. That was kind of him, and fine. He set it up at the front of the line. Thanks, but no, I’ll stay back here, no reason I should make anybody else have to wait any longer, I’ll do just fine; it was definitely long enough for everybody as it was. The guy insisted. But I’m more stubborn than anyone (I can just hear Richard guffawing) and fine, I’ll stay over here on the floor, then, thank you.
The worker, about my father’s age (80), brought the chair over to me, then. That was all well and good. But I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. It’s not my first such experience, but you never get used to it. I suddenly had him putting his face far too close into mine and telling me how proud he was of me. How brave I was. How special. He went on and on, while I was thinking, What the heck? Who’s he talking about? A few minutes later, I got done voting before my husband did, and the man brought the chair over to me again, and then gave me a repeat performance. Well intentioned, I’m sure, but the acute invasion of space and the over-the-top gushing creeped me out, till I suddenly realized what he was really saying: I am so glad I’ve reached nearly twice your age without having become decrepit and frail. Without having to use a cane like you. I’m so glad I can hear better than you. I’m so glad I can carry a chair to you and show you what a good person I am and show off how strong and healthy I am at my age. I’m so glad I’m better off than you…
Absentee. Definitely go for the absentee next time.