Well, hi there!  Allow me to introduce myself.

 

I am a ballot box.  I don’t get out much, lemme tellya.  I spend a great deal of my time in a storage cabinet somewhere.  I stay in the basement at an elementary school in my town.  Sometimes I hear the kids outside in the hallway with their voices and lockers and dropping books and calling each other names.  Sometimes the janitor opens my closet to get out a rag or a ladder or screwdriver, but otherwise I sit in this closet waiting to get used.

 

Could be worse.  I hear some of my friends are stuck in even worse spots.  Some are closed up in their very own case, totally alone, totally in the dark.  Some of them are in a warehouse owned by some government.  The warehouse is locked up, totally secure – no companionship at all for those guys.

 

And I’m just a box.  I have a bottom and a lid on a hinge and a lock and that’s all.  Some of my friends are a bit fancier – they get plugged in so that little motors can pull in the ballots inside themselves for safe storage until counting.  Some of them are even fancier – they require calibration and good cleanings every time they’re out doing their job.

 

When it comes down to it, we are quite a lonesome lot.  We get out once a year, if we’re lucky.  More often than not, it’s more like two years.  I’m surprised more of us don’t show up totally depressed and psychotically nuts from the isolation.

 

The good news is that we love to get out and do our jobs.  We love the hubbub of election days when the election judges take us out, dust us off and place us in our locations.  It feels so good when the completed ballots are placed where they belong.

 

And you know what?  The more the better!  So get off your duff on Tuesday and come see me.  I would LOVE to be so stuffed that they need more and more of me than they thought.

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