Situations in Which the Only Solution Was to Vote
A new piece by me, published today for The New Yorker, below in full for your enjoyment:
I was on a hike when I was bitten on the leg by a venomous snake. I was airlifted to a nearby hospital, where the doctors told me that I needed to sign for an antivenom injection. But then I remembered an e-mail from Nancy Pelosi that told me the only way forward is to vote. So I informed the doctors that I wanted to vote instead. I lost my leg, but my voice was heard.
I woke up to the smell of smoke and the sound of alarms—my house was on fire. I ran downstairs and picked up the phone. I called city hall and asked the person who answered to rush-deliver me an absentee ballot. My home might be gone, but now I can vote from anywhere.
I was kidnapped and held for ransom. My captors called my family and put them on speakerphone. The kidnappers urged me to ask for a thousand dollars in exchange for my freedom. But then I tried to imagine what the Democratic National Committee would want me to do. So I told my family to make sure they go to the polls this November and hung up the phone. I’m currently still kidnapped, but I can rest easy knowing that I got out the vote.
I went skydiving, and during our jump my parachute malfunctioned. My instructor shouted at me to grab onto him so that we could float to safety together. I shouted back that I planned to vote for a new parachute instead. My instructor grabbed hold of me anyway—I guess elections weren’t for a while.
I was lifeguarding at the local pool when a swimmer began to drown. Other poolgoers rushed to my side and asked me to do something. I told them that we can all do something—we can vote for a shallower pool. I was immediately fired, but I like to think that I inspired a group of future voters that day.
I signed up for a sunset cruise on an antique sailboat. Unfortunately, the old boat hit some rocks and began taking on water—it was quickly sinking into the ocean. While the rest of the passengers piled onto a life raft, I remained aboard, looking for dry paper to turn into ballots. “Someone needs to stay here and vote for a sturdier ship!” I said. I was picked up by the Coast Guard a few hours later and treated for hypothermia, just like Joe Biden would have wanted.
I was driving my co-worker home from the office in the car-pool lane, when suddenly an eighteen-wheeler on the wrong side of the road came hurtling toward us. The truck driver blared his horn and motioned with his hands that his wheels and brakes weren’t working. My co-worker yelled at me to swerve out of the way. Instead, I took out my phone and showed him my voter-registration status. “I think we’ll be all right,” I said. “I’m registered to vote.”
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That’s all for this week—thanks for reading! Goodbye.
