Voting Booth gail labovitz The requirements varied from place to place. We might be asked to produce a driver’s license, a hunting license, a license to kill. Some locations accepted a passport, a hall pass, a passing grade, but no passes for girls who wore glasses. We were asked our birthdays, listed our birthplaces, showed our birthmarks, were shown “Birth of a Nation.” We provided proof of residence, proof of citizenship, were given proofreaders to check our work. 124 A study was released a few days before. The Science Times reported: After controlling for all other variables, people who pull levers are fifteen times more likely to develop tennis elbow over the course of twenty five years. The television newscasters asked: Could inking in little bubbles make YOU more susceptible to measles? Someone read somewhere on the internet that the static electricity generated by touch-screens was actually a secret form of electro-shock therapy being practiced on unsuspecting citizens. Some of us found ourselves more eager to participate after hearing that last item. In the corner we saw a music stand, a hat stand, a bandstand, a standard deviation. A yogi invited us to take a headstand, a handstand, a show of hands. We stood our ground, stood idly by, weren’t sure we understood. Tired of waiting for hours, someone ordered in pizza, requesting mushrooms and peppers. What was delivered had pork and pineapple. What was delivered came from a Chinese restaurant. Famished, we devoured it anyway.