Forty-nine minutes in the car, 17 minutes in line and three minutes in the booth.
To vote.
The polling place lay along a street with epically bad traffic. Time to cover the 5.2 miles: 30 minutes (and three dozen silent curses and a honk).
At my destination, cars edged timidly through a parking lot never meant to host such to-ing and fro-ing.
Voters trekked to the entrance and lined up outside, silent, avoiding eye contact, waiting to complete our civic ritual. I tried guessing who among the other voters might cancel my ballot.
After 17 minutes, a poll worker showed me to a booth. Voting for president took 20 seconds. I then checked boxes for legislators, mayor and ballot measures. Time required: three minutes.
The drive home added 19 minutes.
Mathematically, my vote for president counted for nothing. Like tens of millions of Americans, I live in a state that is a gimme for one candidate or the other.
But I voted, by golly.
I endured traffic and lines.
I communed with other voters.
Because the civic ritual counts.
Vote.
Politics in the age of division
We deserve a laugh
Took me about 45 minutes, even with an extended new process for verifying my ID.
But that was all in a line on a Saturday afternoon. No traffic wait required.
Go Vote!