Self-Important, Officious Little Despots

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I went to vote this afternoon. I had meant to vote an absentee ballot but didn’t get my request sent in on time and so I trundled down to my polling place. I have voted in every election, I’m pretty sure since I registered to vote in West Virginia which was 1986 or, perhaps, 1987.  Today was the first time they ever gave me an “I Voted” sticker, but they sucked all the joy out of that.

They keep changing my precinct number — I switch back and forth between Cabell County Precinct 60A and Cabell County Precinct 60B. It has something to do with my last name being the middle of the alphabet.

Sure enough, they changed me again. I got a brand new Voter Registration Card a while back and I tucked it into my wallet for this day.

I walked into a mostly empty highschool gym. I went to 60A. I had to wait for the gentleman in front of me to get his ballot. They asked him for ID and he gave them what appeared to be a driver’s license. OK, fine. It’s my turn. I give them my brand, spanking new Voter Registration Card and they ask for me for photo ID.

Now that struck me wrong. I was pretty sure that my card was sufficient, but I’ve had a long day, I was cranky, and I had ID. I gave it to her.

When I got home, I checked the Secretary of State’s website for acceptable ID at the polls. It clearly states that my Voter Registration Card is sufficient.

https://sos.wv.gov/elections/Pages/BeReg.aspx

I am tired of officious, self-important despots changing the rules to reflect their personal opinions. Or whatever it was that went on. She was clearly wrong. But so was I. I didn’t speak up. It was a long day. I was tired. I had photo ID.

I’m told that polling personnel go through training. I would think that proper identification would be a significant portion of that training. If they are screwing up something as basic as that, what else are they doing? I don’t give a rat’s ass if you think a photo ID should be required. That is not the law. Polling personnel don’t get to make the rules.

Yes, I’ve already sent email to the Secretary of State’s office and will fill out the complaint form as soon as I can convince my printer to print.

AND NOT ONE OF THEM WERE WEARING MASKS.

COVID 19: Day 87: Normal

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Today is Day 87 of my social isolation.  I broke quarantine and went into the office.  I had to.  I’m up to my ass in alligators and it’s time to clean out the swamp.

It was nice to sit at my desk.  I had Mexican take-out for lunch.  I riffled through email and an email technology problem.  I shuffled some paper around.  I made a few phone calls.  It was all so normal.  Nice, splendid normal.

Tomorrow I will go in for what will probably be a full day.  We have a big technology project underway and I don’t even know what continent my ducks are on — forget having them in a row.

Normal.  It’s a nice respite, but I think it’s just that.  I don’t think the pandemic is even close to over.  But I’ll take a day like this now and again.  Oh, yes, I will.

COVID-19: Day 84: National Moonshine Day

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Today is, I’m told, National Moonshine Day.  To celebrate, I offer you my short story The Plum. 

It should be noted that The Plum is very much a real thing and not a product of my imagination.

I was first introduced to it on a camping trip on the Williams River in Pocahontas County.  The more manly and womanly amongst us made a point of “eating the plum” — I wasn’t one of them.

The Plum gets its name, of course, from the plums that are placed in the jar.  Moonshine is poured over and the plums are allowed to steep.  The ‘shine turns a beautiful color and the moonshine is flavored with ripe plum.

I’ve lived in West Virginia since 1985.  Moonshine is de rigueur when non-Appalachians visit.  When you live in a barn, folks expect you to have moonshine.  I seldom comply.  The real stuff is hard to come by and kind of expensive.   On principle, I refuse to buy the legal stuff.  I’m not sure what the principle is, but toddling down to the liquor store and buying a quart of moonshine doesn’t feel authentic.

I made up the origin story.  I have no idea if it’s a hundred-year-old recipe or concocted for the first time in the early ’90s when I first tasted it.  But I’ve tasted it at various intervals and it’s good.  Really good.  Although, a sip or two will do me.  Mercy, a quart would last me a decade.

The Williams River is my happy place.  It’s my favorite spot on the planet.  I am so thankful for that one 4th of July where I got to experience all of the wonder and power and magic of a bunch of hillbillies camping, playing music, and sipping The Plum.

And, if you’d like to hear me reading The Plum, here ya go:

 

Willy and Me on the Williams River