Butt-inski

As many other Americans did, last night I found myself at my town's elementary school to cast my vote in the 2012 Presidential Election. No, I will not be discussing my political opinions, who I voted for, or the outcomes of the election. I vowed a few months back that I would not be entertaining the topic more than once in my blog, and I fully intend on keeping to that vow. Really, just go on Facebook if you are that interested. You'll be assaulted with the amount of opinions available, trust me.

But my topic tonight is a much more sinister and corrupt topic than politics.

Line cutting.

No, I'm not referring to "cutting a line" of an illegal substance. In the movies it's usually something like cocaine; stripped into little lines on top of a mirror with a razor blade, then inhaled with a dollar bill. This act doesn't involve drugs in any form." This is the physical act of cutting to the front of a line. Or as we Philadelphians say, "butting-in" front of.

Obviously, yesterday was a pretty big election--remember it only happens every 4 years? Seriously, everyone and their mother turned out to vote last night. And more in particular, all my neighbors and people from my  town seemed to turn up at my polling place at the precise time that I was planning on voting--which was at 6:30. I breezed through the hallway, with its annoying party representatives handing out pamphlets (which, let me also state is a complete waste of time and paper. If I'm actually showing up to vote, chances are I'm completely certain of who and what I am voting for. Your pamphlets  will not sway my opinion, Mr. Ambiguous Republican/Democrat man. Really, I thought Americas was "Going Green.") I was a bit shocked to see such a large crowd lined up in the school's auditorium and waiting to duck behind the little blue curtain and light up the switch board for our nomination. The last time I voted, I was in and out in under 5 minutes. No joke, I barely took 2 good breaths inside the school. Now that I think of it, the last time I voted was for the congressional race last year, which explains my quick exit--it wasn't the "Big Show."

I trudged back to the end of the line and considering I have no patience especially for lines of any form, I was not happy about it. I also had the guy I'm currently "hanging out" with along for the ride-- who was in fact not there to vote (as he lives in New Jersey) and who I lured there with me with the promise of tacos after--and felt even more impatient that we were subjected to a long line.

After 5 minutes of waiting, I was half tempted to say "Ah fuck it. Let's go get tacos," but all I could picture were the suffragettes and Susan B. Anthony screaming at me from their "Votes for Women" picket lines. Couldn't let old Susie down, now could I.

So we waited. And waited. Every few minutes we were able to take a few steps forward and the lines behind us continued to grow. Actually it was quite impressive--I was told when I finally got to the front of the line and handed the volunteer my ID, that I was the 1200th voter that day which was more than they had ever seen. I started to feel more optimistic and less tyrannical as we got closer and closer to the booths. The end was in sight and so were the tacos that were awaiting us.

But then 1 woman shot all that to hell.

So I'm standing in line, innocently chatting to my "friend" about random things, when from the corner of my eye I see this woman--with too pink lipstick, hair that was beyond gray but she was obviously trying to cling to her youth, and bright red blush--roll through the door, taking a look at the long line and mouthing "Wow." She eyes up the line and then seems to decide, "Oh, I know you," to the man standing in front of me. Apparently she actually did know him. They were colleagues of some sort; they started talking about business and houses the other one sold. It seemed to be a happy little reunion of sorts, until you looked past the happy couple to the crazy with anger woman standing behind them.

The crazy woman being me.

I was pissed as hell. Literally ready to spit fire.If I had to wait in this damned line to vote, this tacky woman was sure the hell going to, too. Now you may be saying to yourself, "They were just talking! It doesn't mean she actually intended on cutting in front of you to vote." Well you're wrong! Because she moved with the line and edged her way into the line and in front of me, all the while keeping the conversation going between her and her colleague. If she hadn't intended on cutting, I figured she would have kindly stated to the man, "We'll talk after," seeing that the line continued to grow and every second she stayed to talk was minutes longer she'd be in line. But no! This obviously didn't cross her mind because she jabbered on and on.

My blood was boiling.

My "friend" could see my anger building, and being the Prince Charming that he is, offered to say something to the woman. "I have no problem telling this woman to get to the back," he whispered not too lowly. I told him no, it's not a big deal, we're almost to the front anyway. I resigned to the fact that this rude woman was butting-in front of me. "Just need to breathe and get over it," I thought.


But then--AGAIN-- a woman shot that to hell.

As the couple in front of me continued to rattle off about real estate, another haphazard woman waltzed into the auditorium. Similar to her predecessor, she was taken back by the large line in front of her. And as luck would have it--I swear God has a sick sense of humor--she also knew the couple in front of me. She marched right up to both of them and it was all kissy kissy and hellos. Then the newcomer turned to the other woman and asked, "Are you in line?" To which she replied, "No, no! I already voted earlier."With this reply, I instantly felt bad for judging her so harshly. Maybe her make-up wasn't too pink and her hair wasn't complete mess.

Maybe.

I was still thinking about this as my thoughts were interrupted by the newer woman to arrive.

"Excuse me? Yes hi! I need to butt-inski. Sorry I need to butt-inski," she said to me and motioned to the space between me and the older man.

"What?" I asked.

"I need to butt-inski.I hope that's okay," she said as she basically forced me to step back and stared me down until I did. Apparently I gave her the dirtiest look known to man and said "Um....I guess," and backed up.

I was shocked. Shocked isn't even the proper word. I was abhorred and instantly wanted to punch this rude-ass woman in her fat face. Not only had she used the word "butt-inski" in succession 3 times, but also saw nothing wrong with the fact that she was doing that rudest thing possible. My "friend" basically had to pet down my anger; rubbing my arms and talking to me like a child.

Now I ask you, is this act not the epitome of rude and immaturity? Is it not universally taught in elementary school that you don't cut in front of a line?

Not only was there a huge line but the line was for the most patriotic thing an American could do. Cutting in this line is almost like spitting on the Constitution! This woman just walked in like it was nothing and thought she was better than the line--who was she to wait in a line.

And trust me, the situation would be completely different if she had some heroic excuse--which she in fact did. She told the man in front of me that she had just left her elderly mother at home to rush out and vote. And trust me I'm not a complete bitch--if she had simply turned to me and said "Listen, my elderly mother is sick and waiting for me at home. Would you mind if I jumped in front you to vote" I would have been fine letting her cut in front of me. Like that's an acceptable excuse. Really, its all about asking, which this woman didn't even have the courtesy to do. She just decided to "butt-inski"  in front of a large group of people who had been waiting for at least 20 minutes and then say sorry. And really if she was planning on being an ass, the entire line deserved to hear her slay the English language.

People cease to amaze me. For real.

Eventually I got to vote and throw more than a few nasty looks at the ungrateful woman who now stood in front of me. All ended well and I got to eat my fill of tacos--even though I would rather have eaten them a good 40 minutes prior.

Moral of the story; If you don't ask, GET TO THE BACK BITCH!