My wife asked me to return a book to the library she borrowed the week before. I said yes and did so this morning after my air shift.
The library is also where we vote in the Presidential Preference Primary, something I’d forgotten about until I pulled into the parking lot. I exited my truck and went inside.
Once through the doors, only myself, three women working the tables, and one observer were there. I walked up to the first one and started to present my identification so she could find me in the voter rolls.
Before even looking for my name, she turned to the woman at the table to her left and asked, “Is his sweatshirt legal?”
“Oh, no,” the woman answered. “It is considered intimidating, I do believe.”
The woman I stood before looked at me and said, “I’m afraid we can’t let you vote until you change your sweatshirt.”
Instead of arguing the point, and because I wanted to get done and get home, I did not argue but went to my truck and put my jacket on, buttoning it up before returning to the polling place. Still, there was no one but us four in the room of 10 voting machines.
“Is this okay?” I asked.
“Yes,” the first woman said as she began looking for my name. “Here’s your card, you may select any machine and follow the instructions, then put the card in the basket when done.”
Half a minute later, I finished voting and did as instructed before exiting the building. I got in my truck, pulled out my cell phone, and took a smiling selfie while holding my “I Voted” sticker.
My two takeaways: I had no idea my old faded yellow and red Marine Corps sweatshirt, with the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor on its front, could lead to voter intimidation, and I selected the best candidate possible, “None of these Candidates.”
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