“Are You Registered to Vote?” Asks Woman Pointing One Gun at You and One at Her Own Head

I am walking down Locust. A woman steps in front of me, blocking my path. I pivot left. Like a crack of lightning she pivots with me. She had trained for this. I pivot right, but before I can even make the conscious decision to pivot right, she is already there, like some malicious omniscient entity. Beads of cold sweat drench my face as I stare intensely at my phone and play Candy Crush, a game that I hadn't opened since I owned an IPod in 2012. I pray to God for safe passage through the treacherous waters in which he has left me to drown. But suddenly, something pokes my chest and stops me. 

The polished barrel of a fully loaded Glock-Nine.

"Excuse me, sir. Are you registered to vote in the state of Pennsylvania?"

Holy fuck, there's a switch attached. 

"There is a lot at stake in this upcoming election. Our democracy is on the ballot, and so is your right for me not to fill your lungs with more metal than a vape."

I need to think fast. I try a blatant lie: "Yes, I am registered to vote."

"Fantastic! Just show me the receipt and you can be on your way." Now she's pointing another Glock at her own head. A single tear trickles down her face. She is scared, yes. Who isn't scared of what waits for them after death? But like hundreds of thousands of United States soldiers before her, she is ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for her nation. 

"Listen, I swear I'll register to vote later. I just don't have time right now because I really need to get to this club meeting." I do not have a club meeting, and I have skipped every meeting for every club that I am a part of since the second semester of my freshman year. 

She says nothing. She just slowly uses one foot to remove the shoe and sock from the other, then positions a third Glock so that her pinkie toe is gripping the trigger and aims it at a basket filled with a mixture of puppies and infants. 

Fine, damn it. I'll register to vote. She hands me the paper, and I sign my name: Ben Dover. I'll never register to vote. I don't know why I won't. Something inside of me just really doesn't want to.