Polling Closed. Plus One.

He’s never been to this place before. But surely, these days when people are not so secretive about stuff, they’ll be talking about the voting. Won’t they? And he’s eager to know. Because the results aren’t all out yet. Not everybody knows. And it could be close. So many different ones to choose from, to vote for.

So he’s  very surprised when at dinner time his new co-workers are either on their smart phones, checking names or social media posts…

Or talking about parties. The differences between this party and that party. Probably some themed thing going on because there’s been apparently a green party. But according to what is being said, it was  a big party but they didn’t get enough seats. He doesn’t quite get that: what kind of a party needs seats: you’re in the kitchen necking beer aren’t you? Or outside smoking? Or throwing shapes to music? And how could they not have enough seats: how poorly organised must that have been?

“Wouldn’t have him,” a lady is saying, “you can’t trust somebody with a face like that can you? I mean …”

“ … and so-and-so said he said something about what he’d done for hospitals and I got confused because I didn’t think he cared …”

“… and they always end up talking about jobs and I think about the banks. They never mention that it’ll be me that’s paying do they?”

There’s no mention of the voting. For a moment he is decidedly angry. Nearly gets on his soap box and talks about everybody having the right (and the attached responsibility) to cast a vote. The whole history of democracy, the traditions and trials to get these rights. But he’s not sure anybody here would be listening. Honestly they just don’t seem the type. They’re all missing the point. Somebody should talk to them, get them to grow up … but he’s on his first day here, so it is not really his place.

Perhaps he is too smug, he realises. But he’s done his little bit, all that he knows to do. Studied the histories and characters of those who appear on the voting slips. Cast his own vote. On-line, because that’s possible with modern technology. Didn’t even have to leave the house. Typically he voted for the smallest one. Appeared a conservative choice. Not usually noticeable, but territorial, and could stand up and be counted when necessary. A bit, he smiled to himself like me he thought.

But, back at work he is constantly distracted: needing to learn new routines and who is who in these unfamiliar rooms and corridors. He briefly considers using the office computer to find out the results, but chickens out: there are rumours that the system is monitored and the bosses can find out what sites you’ve been looking at.

So it is not until later that night, much later in fact that he looks it up. And the results are still not announced. He will have to wait a bit longer it seems before Britain’s first ever national bird is announced.

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3 responses to this post.

  1. Next month… It’s as bad as writing submissions! Sue

    Reply

  2. Hen harrier, every time 🙂

    Reply

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