Election Workers: Thank You for Your Service

Expand

Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, as an occasionally considered chronicler/reporter on-the-ground (not yet beneath) of the ways and means of Our Town and beyond, I must report that I have VOTED. Tuesday, Oct. 22. God bless America. That morning, I ambulatoried my way a couple, three, four, five city blocks west from my dinky Downtown apartment to the Frank P. Zeidler (one of our Cream City’s great Socialist mayors; so great the gentleman got a building named after him) Municipal slab of concrete over there on Broadway (where the Drifters would sing “there’s always magic in the air”) and Kilbourn Ave.

The very first day of in-person “early voting,” t’was. I thought to take advantage of the “early,” it being a weather-friendly day for an aging sidewalk pedestrian like myself, figuring I could be in and out in a lickety split.

Much to my surprise, the joint was mobbed outside-inside (like Elvis Presley was at a desk signing autographs, I kid you not) with people of all kinds of ilk standing in lines out the door, down the steps and onto the sidewalk every-which-way in a peacefully democratic, way—to vote.

I was not feeling swell. I had forgotten to swallow at least one of my blood-pressure tabs that morning and as I encountered the long line, my knees were shaking, the Earth was quaking, and I knew that neither could I safely step the stairs to then stand unsupported for a goodly period of time. 

An election worker/person who was organizing the long lines noticed my perplexed difficulty. She offered her arm to assist my queasy sense of balance not knowing if I were there to vote for the new god of the Underworld or the soldier for Democracy. 

We made it up the stairs and into the lobby, my ballot envelope in hand, where I was able to hold onto something besides the idea of free and fair elections.

Thank you so much for your service, madam.

But as I surveyed the room of voters, I did not get the sense there would be many who would write-in Art Kumbalek for president. Go figure.

Maybe it would be on account of “character” issues.

And speaking of “character,” it was the poet, essayist and philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson who said, “Judge of your natural character by what you do in your dreams.” Well Ralphie boy, last night I dreamt that I was schtupping Rita Hayworth—not Ava Gardner, not Lana “The Sweater Girl” Turner, not Betty Grable nor Dietrich, Monroe, or any of these new gals they call “stars” today; no sir, I was schtupping Rita focking Hayworth right out of “Gilda”—missionary position, smack-dab upon second base at old Milwaukee County Stadium in-betweenst games of a sold-out twi-night double-header between our Braves and the Cincinnati Pirates (hey it’s a dream). It’s a recurring dream I’ve had for years and years. And what it says about “natural character,” fock if I know, assuming by “character” you mean “Moral or ethical strength; integrity; fortitude”; and not “character” as in the old, toothless, soiled jackass sidewinder in a Western lolling outside the saloon, who will “dance” for a drink when the bad guys come shootin’-it-up into town.

You be the judge.

So I figure if I can’t be president, I’ll take one of those cabinet top spots in the next administration, like secretary over there by the Department of Education that the GOPsters want to kibosh. 

So I’ve been boning up my resume, which I just a minute ago finished and mailed off to the Kamala Harris campaign people ’cause I heard they may have an opening for secretary of education down the line. Pays at least $215,815 (Viva Las Vegas) each and every year and that’s nice dough for a secretary, I don’t care who you are. Especially when you consider that because you’re the top secretary in education, you don’t have to put up with a bunch of focking kids on a day-to-day basis. I did a little research and from what I could tell, the main part of the job is bossing around teachers and schools all over the country. Hey, talk about sweet revenge for a guy like me.

And let me tell you, I think my renovated resume ought to be snatched off the market pretty damn quick. Yes, there’s a typo on it I was too lazy to fix—“cum laude” from Our Lady In Pain That You’s Kids Are Going Straight To Hell But Not Soon Enough (actually, I was “dum laude”)—and maybe there’s a little exaggeration (Previous Employment Experience: symphony conductor, astronaut. Interests/Activities: Etruscan, mentoring at-risk shut-ins, alchemy), but I got a feeling they’re too busy in D.C. to double-check resumes big-time ’cause otherwise how the hell did George W. Bush or Donald Trumpel-thinskin ever get the president job, ain’a, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.