I’m a terrible American.
Tuesday marked the first time since I’d turned 18 that I didn’t vote. Like many an antihero, my patriotic impulses were thwarted by bureaucratic BS. My car was up for inspection this week, see, and I had no time before D-Day to get it checked out. My father-in-law offered to take it to a guy he knows, but in order to do so, I had to drive the car over to his place after work yesterday. This took a good chunk out of potential voting time.
Plus, I hadn’t re-registered in my new neighborhood. So in order to vote, I’d have to go back to Greenpoint, which is nigh impossible to do in the evening without a car. Beyond rush hour, the local buses run like a fat asthmatic kid with a torn ACL. Long story short, time, tide, and the affairs of the DMV conspired to thwart my civic duties.
But if I’m honest with myself, I can say that if I really, really, really wanted to vote, I would have found a way to do so. I didn’t.
