Mail-In Voting Is a Travesty of the Democratic Process

Seattlest treats our vote like a Bible Belt teenager treats her virginity. Despite what you may have read in that awesome New Yorker article this week, that means we cherish it, we love it, we clutch it to our breast and imagine heaven on Earth (sometime, far off in the future). We want to be there in person when it's given away, or cast, or whatever. We certainly don't want to drop it in a box and hope for the best or clip it to our door along with the Netflix and the outgoing bills. We want the lady pictured to the right to walk us through the Big Event.
So we went to our neighborhood polling place this morning and waited a few minutes for a flat surface to open up. Unfortunately we got one of those little cubby holes and not the coveted piano spot in the church basement, but afterwards we slid our ballot into the big green box and watched the counter increment by one (our unofficial exit poll shows Barack Obama winning 100% to 0). A poll worker handed us a sticker--which we are now wearing--that says, "i voted." It also says, "a farewell to polls." Which sucks.
From now on we'll be mailing it in along with the rest of the state. The phrase itself, "mailing it in," has come to mean doing something half-assed, nonchalantly, or without due attention. It's a half step away from "phoning it in," or however else we'll be devaluing effort in the future--"texting it in" or whatever--and we don't want to "mail it in." We don't want America mailing it in. We mailed in the last presidential election and that didn't work out so well. "Well done, United States populace, you really mailed it in on Tuesday." Does that sound like a well-functioning Democracy? We want to say, "Well done, registered voters in the United States of America, you showed up in-person, awake and alert (an aside: Seattlest trimmed the beard to go vote today. Shit you not.), and voted.
We have scant enough contact with our neighbors. You avert your eyes when you pass us on the sidewalk, we roll ours when you order something ridiculous in the cafe in front of us, and that's about it. Sometimes we come over to your house for soup. The least we can do is vote next to each other. We enjoy touching elbows with you while we fill in our ovals and jokingly ask you what you got for number seven, and we'll miss it in the future.
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