Me - The Voter
Tuesday, June 8th, 2010Me - The Voter
By Dee Scriber
I feel a little low today. I have just been notified of my death. The Notice is from The Register on Voters in Natchitoches, Louisiana. The Notice says that dead or not, I need to bring the Notice to Natchitoches and get it straightened out.
The Notice is so official looking, it must be true. I begin to get a little worried. Maybe I’m dead and don’t know it. I begin to wonder how long I’ve been gone. And I wonder why my family hasn’t set my body on to LSUS in Shreveport where I have donated my body to Science.
With trembling hands, I read the notice over and over. Can this be true? Am I dead? I get cold and clammy and my pacemaker is turning flips. This is sad. I so wanted to vote this year. Such an exciting year. First time a black person has ever been nominated for president of the United States.
The following is the exact notice:
Date of Mailing: 07/07/2008
NOTICE: LETTER OF IRREGULARITY
Dear Voter: This Office has received information which provides reason to believe that you may no longer be qualified to be registered to vote in Louisiana for the following reason:
THE VOTER WHOSE NAME APPEARS ON THIS NOTICE IS DECEASED.
I call the office and talk with Mrs. Waskum, and tell her who I am. “Mrs. Waskum” I say, ” I am not dead.
“The Social Security Office In Natchitoches, Louisiana says that you ARE dead. You died in 1991.”
“Not so,” I tell her. “My death has been grossly exaggerated.” I am letting out several of the bitchy words that I know.
Then Waskum gives me the phone number of the Social Security Office in Natchitoches and says, “Call them and find out if you are dead or not.”
I call the Social Security Office in Natchitoches.
“I want to talk to someone who can talk with the dead,” I tell the woman person who answers the phone.
The woman person at the Social Office says, quaking with fright, “What… what… you mean … talk to the dead?”
“Yes, ” I say, “I’m dead. I want to talk with someone who can talk to the dead..”
I calm her down a bit, and tell her all about the voting mix-up at the Voters registry, and how I can’t vote because the Social Security Office says that I am dead.
The woman person wants to know my age, Social Security Number, and where I live.
I give her all the information.
“Our records show that you are dead. You died in 1991.”
“Damn if that’s so,” I yell. “Now, I can’t vote and if I’m dead I won’t get my Social Security check. You are all screwed up, Social Security woman person.
“We will straighten it,” the woman person promises.
I call my Bank and talk with a young lady that I know. I tell her that I am dead and that I died in 1991. She is shocked to hear it.
“You are dead? Why you were in here in the bank just two or three days ago. Remember?”
“Yes, but that was last week. Now I’m dead. I have just been notified of my death. What I want to know is if the Social Security Office in Washington D.C. or Maryland etc. has found out about my death. Dead or alive, I need my Social Security check. Will you see if my July check has come in?
She checks. “Yes, Ms Dizzy, your check is here.”
“Good,” I say. “I’m not going if I can’t take my Social Security check with me.
So everything is straightened out and I can go about my business?
Well, no! Remember this is the government we are dealing with. Is anything ever straightened out and all right that the government takes care of? Not so!
It is scary to know that someone can hit a wrong key on the computer and wipe you off the map.
On August 1, 2008 this same lady from the Social Security Office in Natchitoches calls me again to verify my address and how long I have lived at that address. I tell her that despite the report of my death in 1991 I have lived at the same address for the past thirty years. I have neighbors, I tell her, who can prove that I have lived here thirty years and that I am not dead, although some of them may say that the neighborhood would be more peaceful without me.
Well, finally this is all straightened out. So I will be eligible to vote in November 2008. I treasure my vote. Let me tell you why. I was ten years old when women, nationwide, were given the right to vote. Think of that! Women were not considered worthy or intelligent enough to vote until 1920. I close with this little poem
Bless You, My Vote
My vote is the only thing I really own
No one touches my vote Family and friends and neighbors and
Politicians may advise, entreat and
Implore. But no one controls my vote.
Not even the Pope!
VOTE is mine! The only right I truly
Own. All other things have conditions.
“Ands” and “buts”
But when I go into that booth and
Draw that curtain, I am on my throne.
I control that throne!
I pull that lever. I cast my vote.
“Vote,”I say, “I treasure you
Bless you, my Vote! “
This is just one of the many stories in the pages of “My First 99 Years” by Dee Scriber. You can order a copy of this book at www.blurb.com
Other books by Dee include ‘My Little Corner of the Trailer Park’, ‘A Wee Book of Many Mini Stories’, “A Scrap of Paper And A Pencil Stub,” “My Buckets Got A Hole In It,” “My Bicycle’s Got A Flat,” and “The Warped And Weird World Of Dizzy Dee” are available at The Book Merchant, Front St. Natchitoches, or from Dee. Her e-mail address is rscriber@cp-tel.net or by writing to her at 6197 Hwy, 9 Lot 12, Campti, LA 71411.
