by Louis DiFiore

Created on: December 09, 2011

 Some patriotic Americans feel voting is their duty and that the right to vote should be an earned one. Apparently, the volunteers at the polling locations in my town are of that opinion. They did not make it easy.

Living on a picturesque boating community in northwestern New Jersey, I have a spectacular view  of rolling hills surrounding a nine-mile natural lake. One of my personal pleasures is walking around the three block landscape dotted with colorful summer bungalows mixed with new townhomes and a few mini-mansions. I ramble over floating docks and pass boat slips that house varied boat types while letting the gentle breeze wash over me.  It all makes for a classic Norman Rockwell picture.

That is, until the sign invasion began.

The signs were red, white, and blue enhanced with political graffiti. Some are vertical, some more horizontal, narrow or wide. All were hideous structures reminding us to vote for Mr. Freeholder, Ms. Congresswoman, and our beloved Mr. Mayor and his esteemed political party.

Perfect fodder for the dumpster.

The sample ballot arrived in the mailbox two weeks before the election. After studying it for a few minutes, I noticed that something was missing.

“Do you see anything that says where we are supposed to vote?” I asked my domestic partner.

“No, I can’t say that I do,” she answered. “It’s a small town, where do you think they would vote?” I asked.

This was the first election since moving to our lakeside community. So, on that April afternoon, we decided to combine some exercise with information gathering. After stopping to speak with a few of our neighbors, we had a general consensus. Voting would be at the school on the hill.

On election day, the two signs, ‘Vote’ and ‘Park’ directed us to the polling center. Inside the small gym, the two tables were manned by four women and two men, none younger than age seventy-five. They stopped their loud banter long enough to stare at us. I felt like an uninvited guest.

“We are here to vote,” I said just to remind them. “Where do you live?” one man asked. “On Lakefront,” I answered.

“You are in the wrong town, you belong in Roxstone” he said loud enough to wake up the adjoining community. “I live two houses from the mayor, so I believe that I am in the correct town,” I said.

“Then you must be in the right place,” a woman said. “What

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