Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

Eleventh hour scenes hours before America decides our next president

Photo by Cyrus Crossan on Unsplash

Scene One: Election Eve, New York City. (Pennsylvania Ballot signed, sealed, delivered two weeks ago.)

Young woman in hotel restaurant. Working as a host. Takes me to a table while I wait for my colleague. She asks me about my day. Tell her I’m doing okay given that we are facing the most consequential election of our lifetime.

“Oh I know,” she says. Then looks at me.

Is it okay if I talk politics with you?

I say sure.

Who are you voting for?

I voted for her, I say.

Ka-mala?

“Yes, Comma-la.”

She is in her twenties, Gen Z. Big, beautiful eyes. Mixed race.

I’m thinking about voting for Trump.

“Why do you think you’ll vote for him?” I ask

I’m sitting on a banquette. She sits by my side. We look at each other.

Trump’s good for business. And I’m a business woman.

“Okay,” I say, knowing there is not a second to waste. “But here’s what I want you to think about tomorrow when you go to the polls. If you are thinking about becoming a mother one day, then you need to vote for her. Because he is not going to protect you. She will. And any child you bring into the world whenever that may be? They will be protected too.”

She looks at me, those big eyes blinking a few times, head nodding.

That might be the only reason to vote for her.

“That’s plenty of reason,” I say.

She nods. I think she’s taking it in.

Thank you for taking the time. And then she walks back to the host station.

And I thank whatever divine Mary Poppins spirit decided to show up in my body in this moment in this room and do whatever just happened. Because maybe…

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Scene Two: Election Day, morning. Bagel Shop.

I’m the only one in the shop. There are three people working behind the counter, similar in age to the woman from last night. Everyone is friendly; say good morning. I place my order, smoked salmon with capers, onions and cream cheese.

I’m still the only customer in the shop. Correction: Mary P. is here, too.

“So have you all voted?” I ask.

They look at me, a little sheepish.

“You gotta vote,” I say. “Today’s the day.”

“You mean it’s not too late?” the one at the cash register asks. “I can still go today?”

“Not too late,” I say. “But today is the last day.”

“How late are the polls open?” the one making my sandwich asks.

“Hang on, lemme look,” I say.

I do a search on my phone.

“In New York: Nine o’clock!” I say.

“I can go right after work,” Sandwich Guy says.

Will he? I dunno. But if I hadn’t said anything, he definitely wouldn’t have.

Cashier hands me my sandwich. “Let’s hope for the best.”

Even if the sound of it is something quite precocious…

END SCENE