INKY FINGER

Well voting was pretty uneventful. Next year I’m hitting Alexandra polling station for some real action. I had a ninety year old in front of me who wanted to chat about the days when she was my age and I had a Sandton mother of two behind me who banged awwwwn and awwwwn about the importance of good boots.

Hearing stories of hour-long queues I was ready with a snack pack, a book and a fully charged phone to surf myself into a coma. Ten minutes of Granny Gabber and Sandton Love My Boots, I was disappointed to find I was in front of the queue. Hearing a ruckus (good word) I turned around to see a cop van scream in and five very hot cops fell out. Anticipating some polling station action, I got my camera ready, but alas they were merely there to vote and joined the queue behind me. Love My Boots went to a different table which put me right in front of Hot Cop. Smiling seductively and subtly showing him my ID to show him we were of similar age and therefore meant to be together, I didn’t notice all twenty party helpers were waiting for me to stop flirting with the law and actually vote.

Hot Cop: Um, Ma’am.
Me: Oh Hi! Duty calls hey? (Good one Baglett)
HC: I think they’re waiting for you.
Me: Oh

Because like an asshole, I was registered in Cape Town, I had to fill in a pink affidavit type thing proving that I was now in Jo’burg. Which I thought was obvious since I was, um, in Jo’burg. Completing the form, I was compelled to show it the cop behind me and say...

Look, I’ve got a pink ticket! And then wink.

F*ck.