If you think I am going to talk politics, you will be disappointed. Like Professor Quincy Adams Wagstaff in Horse Feathers, whatever it is, I am against it. I have been singing that song to myself all day since I voted this morning. I swing my fist like Groucho as I do it.
I got to the polling station late. It was 6:10AM. The election commissioners, that is what they are called according to the Louisiana Secretary of State, they were not ready at 6:00AM so I took a ride around the neighborhood to check on that bootleg restaurant the guy runs in his basement. There are no hours posted, but there is a sign with the restaurant’s name. If you do not know it, you do not need to.
Always on patrol, that investigation took ten minutes. There are also some shipping containers spray painted like boxcars back there, by the Knights of St. Peter Clavier Hall. They are like the Knights of Columbus where you live.
When I say that a guy is making his living on the down-low, without the city getting involved, lucky stiff, in his basement, this does not mean it is underground. It means that it is located in the low-ceilinged part of a house that is not for living in. This is why basement apartments are the cheapest.
Nobody wants a basement apartment. The ceilings are low and they flood. It is like living in a cave fit for only troglodytes and child molesters.
Anyhow, I was the second person at the polling station. The only reason I know they are called election commissioners is because I want to apply to the Louisiana Secretary of State to become one. It is nice work if you can get it and I need another bullet on my resumé to make me stand out from the crowd.
The guy in front of me, he was behind the curtain at his machine. I do not know what is like where you are from. It is all secret ballot in the Parish Hall across from the closed St. Peter Claver Academy in the 6th Ward. I wonder what is going to happen to that building. Much of it is new, built with Katrina money.
New Orleans’ demographics are changing. Katrina changed everything, as I am reminded every day.
I was guided to the second voting machine, which was turned on just for me after I stepped behind the curtain. It took a while for the machine to warm up. I have to relearn how the machines work every year. We can vote two, three, four times a year in Louisiana. It is great fun.
I find two things baffling about voting in Louisiana. 1.) When were these machines made? 1983? 2.) What is wrong with paper ballots?
For our foreign friends: Voting in every state is different.
In Connecticut, the machines had little levers that gave a satisfying click when you turned it, and, when you cranked the handle, the whole thing recorded your vote somehow with a satisfyingly mechanical clunk.
I do not recall voting in Rhode Island. I am sure I did but it made no impression. I know what you are thinking. “Thank you for sharing.”
In Boston it was paper ballots.
In Louisiana it is some kind of contraption that looks like it came off the set of Space 1999. I feel like I am in a dystopian future where nothing works.
There is only one Louis Armstrong song I know all the words to. This really is a wonderful world.
If you would like to know why I spend hours reading the Wall Street Journal every day, it is because an informed citizenry is the foundation of effective democracy. You should try it. I do not know how much a digital subscription costs but the paper subscription is reasonable, especially considering what it provides, if it is available in your area.
You may not have the time to read it, of course. In this way, I am blessed. I live in New Orleans time.
Ever the stickler for narrative, I have changed venue and, with this shift in scene, we are going behind the paywall to talk about the rest of this Election Day.