Shortly after lunch I arrived bravely at my polling place with kids in tow. Unaffiliated with a party, I chose to vote in the Democratic primary. I was given a once-over on how to operate the touch screen booths (which are decidedly un-booth-like and uncomfortably public). I was told to "mash" this or that part of the screen. To "mash" this on-screen button to correct a mistake, and to "mash" the top, actual button when I was ready to cast my vote. It was a lot of work to restrain the giggle that threatened publicity. Regionalisms are rich additions to the English language, but even after 15 years living in North Carolina, they catch me off-guard.
The alcohol referendum had so many ways to vote for or against it that I figured everyone in town could vote a different way and we would still not have a decision. I tried to vote in a way that would not disagree with my other votes, but wasn't sure I succeeded. Vote for or against sales "on-premises" and "off-premises," vote for or against sales only in restaurants, vote for or against sales of "only fortified wine," vote for or against the operation of ABC stores, vote for or against whether you want your neighborhood to spiral down into crime after sordid crime due to the sale of alcohol - that sort of thing. Long story short: 300 of us were against ye olde fyre water and 200 were for it. Liquor runs and beer dashes will remain part of rural North Carolina life.
Per a local news clip, the Baptist Church up the road cheered when they heard the referendum results at 9:30. They said they could go to beds with happy hearts. And while I had voted for them to go to bad saddened and heavy-hearted, I'm glad that someone could. The rest of us had to drive 20 minutes up the road in order to do the same.
1 comment:
"And while I had voted for them to go to bed saddened and heavy-hearted..."
Extremely funny.
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