Author: hb

You can listen to this essay instead, if you like. I stumble over words, tho.

I’m not gonna lie. I felt a little sad before I headed out to the polls this morning. Granted, since COVID, my family had been voting by mail, and so the regular trip down to the police station had been put on indefinite pause.

But it was my first time going to the polls to vote by myself, and I missed the camaraderie of my stepfather and mother. My stepfather: wearing his hat and saying hello to everyone and then grabbing a handful of “freedom” cookies as we stood in line. My mother: making sure that he voted in a more progressive outlook and hoping to counteract some of his more conservative leanings.

But my mother and stepfather both passed this summer and, from what I understand, so did the lady that made the cookies. While there was a bowl of candy and I was number four to the polls this morning (early poll-going being a tradition), it felt a little morose and lonely.

Therefore, I decided to reward myself with baked goods with a promise that I would get a couple of donuts after doing my civic duty. This, I did not realize was going to be a quest in vain.

My first stop was the Dunkin’ Donuts in town and it was massively busy. Not full of people, of course, because also since COVID, we have decided that we no longer have to talk to people, ever. We can just punch things on our phone and then pick them up later.

I’m sure this is somewhat more convenient, but I do think it is unfortunate. For some of us, especially the extreme introverts like myself, these moments are some of the few social interactions we get on a regular basis because we are so very protective of our energy.

Today I decided to park, walk in, and say “Hello. Hey, did you vote? Don’t forget to vote.”

People that make close to minimum wage don’t often have time to vote, but it is imperative that they do because they are the most affected by policy, particularly local policy. So I ask, not to harangue, but to remind and hope.

But they didn’t give me a person when I went into the Dunkin’ Donuts. What they gave me was a screen.

Two large screens, big screens, vertical screens. Please touch a screen.

Touch the screen. You don’t have to wait. You can touch the screen.

Touch the screen and watch the people, the actual people behind the counter, scurry about making orders for people that aren’t even here. It’s like an interactive exhibit where you push a button and make the little people move.

Please touch the screen. Touch one more screen. Please, put your face to the screen. 

And here’s my conundrum, because I stood there and waited, hoping that somebody would recognize that I was not touching the screen, but I also didn’t want to disturb them because they were extremely busy. I don’t want to create extra labor, so after a few minutes, I decided it was probably best to walk away. I made a comment with my money by holding onto it.

But how does that change anything? Do I spend the time and energy to make somebody else’s day a little worse by complaining? Saying “Look I really don’t wanna touch one more screen. Could you just take my order? I don’t even want a coffee, just a couple of donuts. I am literally millimeters away from them, could you please let me have them?”

But instead I left and in the hubbub of their busy morning, I doubt they even noticed and even if they did, they might not know why. At best, I was just some entitled woman who probably didn’t know how to touch the screen. That’s fine, I guess.

But still they scurry, filling orders for ghosts.

I left dissatisfied not because I didn’t get the donuts but because I didn’t know how to make the world better for everyone involved.

So I went to the grocery store, right down the road because, I thought, surely, it’s the morning and what bakeries do in the morning is produce baked goods. It’s an essential morning-oriented profession.

But not our grocery store. At twenty after seven there was nary a doughnut. Of the three employees that walked by me as I stood there, looking in disbelief at an empty donut case, none of them talk to me.

This is unusual since I am normally love bombed upon entering the produce section.

Perhaps they didn’t know what to do since there was no screen in front of me. I moved a little away from the donut case and stood in the bakery area surrounded by days-old baked goods completely vexed. What was I gonna do? Should I go up to an employee and ask:

“Why aren’t there donuts?”
“When are the donuts?”
“Do donuts still happen in this space?”

At least I voted, but even that feels hollow now. What will have changed?

Will there be fewer screens and more donuts?
Will there be fewer donuts, fewer people, and more screens?

I’m not sure, but then I realized there are at least five screens in my den right now. My phone, my tablet, my laptop, my Chromebook, and my TV – wait, also the Switch has a little screen. Six screens make it possible for me to never leave the house again, to order donuts from any number of outlets in the area and have them brought to my door.

Perhaps, one day, I will not think about voting at all, because the screen will let me know that voting is futile, that either complete capitulation or complete destruction are the only avenues for change. The screens will tell me that only action on the edge of things matters and since I’m just a mild-mannered woman in need of baked goods, my opinion doesn’t really matter.

How could it matter? It would be on the screen if it did.

Honey, it’s okay. Here’s a coupon for a dozen donuts.
Vote with your wallet.
Glazed.
Delight.
Stay tuned.