Election Day by James Rumpel

With the USA elections in the news, how might voting change in the future?

Image generated with OpenAI

Chaz Martin was blasted out of his slumber by a loud klaxon. The explosion of noise was a huge contrast compared to the canary tweets that his phone normally played to wake him up.

“Aah-ooo-gah. VOTE! Aah-ooo-gah. Vote! Aah-ooo-gah. VOTE!”

He jerked to attention, sending his pillows flying. After stabbing at the mute button on his phone a half-dozen times he finally was able to turn the annoying sound off. Since there was no going back to sleep after that shock, he grabbed his phone, climbed out of bed, and headed to the bathroom. There was a lot to do today. After all, it was election day.

Chaz had no desire to vote, even though this was the first election where he had achieved the correct age, economic standing, and social media presence to be allowed to cast a ballot. Still, if he didn’t vote he knew that he would be dealing with continuous reminders all day. The Voting Inspiration Initiative had been approved months ago and was in full effect. The loud horn that had replaced his usual alarm was only the first of many reminders he would have to endure unless he made his way to the polls.

The second such reminder came when he went to brush his teeth. His disheveled image in the mirror was nearly totally obstructed by a message in bright red letters: “VOTE TODAY.” It took nearly ten minutes longer than usual to comb his hair, having to tilt his head at an odd angle to see it between the E and the T.

Breakfast wasn’t much better. Instead of the normal beeping as his microwave counted down the seconds till his oatmeal was sufficiently warm, it kept softly repeating the word “vote”, subliminally reminding him of his civic duty.

Chaz decided to delay his trip to the local voting station. The endless string of hassles that was to be his morning could wait a little longer. He turned on his television hoping to find out the score of the previous night’s baseball game.

Unfortunately, he just missed the two minutes of programming on the sports channel, and would have to endure twenty-eight minutes of commercials before the scores would come around again.

He watched as a scene of absolute desolation appeared on the screen. It showed burnt buildings with bleached skeletons leaning against their walls. “Candidate A will destroy our nation,” said the deep bass of the voice-over. “His or her extreme policies will cause war, economic upheaval, and environmental disaster. He or she has stated repeatedly that all they care about is making themselves rich.”

Next, a silhouette of an ambiguously gendered person appeared on the screen and an electronically altered voice announced, “I am Candidate B and I approve of this message, unless you do not approve of it then I disapprove of it.”

A barely audible disclaimer followed. “None of the claims in this ad are verifiable or even remotely true. Such statements are allowed under the Election Ad Extreme Lie Permissibility Act.”

After that ad, a picture of a cute little puppy appeared on the screen. “Do you know what Candidate B does to puppies?” began the next commercial.

Chaz turned off the TV.

Things weren’t much better when he climbed into his car. Because of the law requiring 99% of all radio transmissions to contain political content on election day, it took him nearly fifteen minutes to find the one station that was playing music. Of course, he had to listen to five minutes of reminders that he was supposed to vote before any songs played. In addition, each song was accompanied by a short analysis of its political leanings.

“Next up we have an oldie. Taylor Swift’s I’m Breaking Up with You has a 62.1 percent alignment with Candidate B because the lyrics reference replacing an incumbent boyfriend. There is, however, a 37.9% affiliation with Candidate A due to repeated references to trying to make things work.”

Chaz decided to grab a double latte. He spotted a drive-thru coffee shop. Slowing down, he hit the left turn indicator. “This turn is brought to you by Candidate A,” announced his car. Instead of the usual clicking sound that accompanied each flash, he heard “Vote. Vote. Vote.”

Out of curiosity, he hit the right blinker. “This turn is brought to you by Candidate B.”

While waiting in line, Chaz tried to remember which candidate was the conservative and which was the liberal. Did the turn indicator sponsorships match the candidates’ political leanings? It would have been much easier to keep them straight if not for the Candidate Anonymity Requirement Act. The idea was that voters would be able to concentrate on the issues and not the candidates themselves.

When he finally got to the window, he was excited to notice a sale in effect. A sign proudly proclaimed, “Small Coffee or Latte only $10.” He placed his order.

He scanned his phone over the payment terminal. “That’ll be $20,” announced the barista.

“What?” said Chaz, “the sign says $10.”

“You didn’t look at the fine print,” replied the young woman behind the counter. “That sale only applies if you support Candidate A. Your phone history and data indicate that you only give him or her 48% percent support, plus or minus 5%.”

“But, the plus 5% makes it a positive 53%.”

“If you say so,” said the barista. “I’m not that good at mathing. I only know that the machine says you don’t get the sale price.”

“Is there anything I can do to raise my Candidate A rating?” asked Chaz.

The woman nodded and sighed. “Yes. You are allowed to make a donation of $50 to the Candidate A campaign to receive the discount.” She spoke, robotically. Chaz could tell she had repeated that message multiple times that morning.

“So, I need to spend $50 to save $10? That doesn’t make any sense. You’d have to be stupid to do that.”

“Lots of people are,” shrugged the barista.

“Are stupid?”

“No, I mean a lot of people are donating to get the money off.”

Chaz paid his $20 and went on his way. He drove to the voting station, slightly relieved that after he finished voting, all the ads, reminders, and inconveniences would stop for the next four years.

At the drive-up voting station. He first had to have blood drawn so that his identification could be confirmed using DNA matching thanks to the Anti-Voter Fraud Protocols. There was also a brief delay while a computer did a search for Chaz’s social network posting habits. The technician told him that he had barely qualified to vote and that, in the future, he needed to make more controversial posts or, at least, hit the thumbs-up button on a few more insane rantings.

Finally, Chaz pulled up to the voting kiosk. Per instructions, he set his phone on the pad and waited for his election vote to be tallied. A short beep sounded when the process was complete. He retrieved his phone and looked at the screen to see who he had voted for. Based on all available information about his likes, dislikes, beliefs, habits, and opinions Chaz had cast .489 votes for Candidate B and .511 votes for Candidate A. The final tallies would be completed later that evening though predictive analytics had decided who the winner was weeks ago. The Secret Results Until Everyone Votes to Provide a Sense of Ownership Act did not allow anyone to know who the winner was until after election day.

Chaz sighed, the .22 difference in his vote distribution may or may not have made a difference, but he had done his civic duty. Words could not express how glad he was to finally have this election behind him. He would not have to go through such an epic odyssey for a long time. Life could return to normal.

He pulled his car forward and found his way blocked by a second kiosk. This one was asking for his vote on referendum C17.23. Chaz had absolutely no idea what this referendum was about. Setting his phone on the receptacle, he waited for the chime to tell him his vote was counted. No chime came. Eventually, a synthesized voice announced, “No clear consensus is available for this voter.”

“Of course not,” said Chaz, “I don’t even know what I’m voting for.”

“You may purchase an abridged copy of the referendum for $50 and then vote manually,” said the mechanical voice.

“I don’t want to spend money. Can I leave without voting?”

“That would be in violation of the Everyone Votes on Everything Law. You may, however, use a random vote generator.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

A screen above the intake pad lit up, a bright blue background filling the space. The only image in the foreground was a golden coin. Chaz watched as the coin flew upward on the monitor, flipping over repeatedly. It then descended, stopping at the base of the screen, teetering on its edge. After what seemed like a physically impossible amount of time, the coin fell on its side. The angle of the projection changed to show the result of the toss. Chaz had voted YES.

This time Chaz was able to leave the voting area. He was still wondering about his referendum vote when he noticed an old man standing on the street corner with a sign lying by his feet. Pulling his car to the curb, he shouted to the old man, “What does your sign say?”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you,” answered the man. “According to the Fair Signage Order, I cannot display my sign unless someone with the opposite point of view is showing an oppositely opinionated placard within 50 feet.”

“Oh,” said Chaz. “Does it change anything if I tell you that I have already voted?”

The man paused. “I suppose it’s okay for me to tell you then. My sign tells people that they should vote NO on referendum C17.23.”

“Why? What is the referendum even about?”

“C17.23 says that four years is too long between evaluations of the government. It calls for elections every six months.”

“That would be terrible,” said Chaz, shaking his head.

“Yes, it would, that’s why I have my sign telling people to vote against the referendum.”

Chaz didn’t admit that he had placed a YES vote. He gave the man a quick wave, checked for oncoming traffic, and put on his left blinker before pulling out.

“This turn is brought to you by Candidate A. Remember to vote for Candidate A six months from today.”