Aside from the wide selections of roasted chicken joints, kebab houses, and the extra-large Goya and cellophane noodle sections in the supermarket, one of the benefits of living in a zip code with a high illegal immigrant population is that there was barely a soul in the voting station this morning. I walked in, gave my name, walked in the booth and right back out. It took me longer to read the ballot than it took me to get into the booth. And I could have walked to the place it was so close to my apartment.
I even had time to get my car inspected and still got into work in what would not raise an eyebrow having alerted my supervisor that I may be "a bit tardy" today.
This is a particularly proud day for me as even though I have been eligible to vote for 7 years now, this is my first time voting. Never before had I been living in the state that I had been registered to vote in. I display my "My Vote Counted" sticker with pride. Ms. B. Anthony would be delighted.