Why Is It So Hard To Commit Election Fraud?!

It’s a simple mission, dude. Just get in and out.

Yeah, simple his dainty rump! He tried to subtly scratch his ear without messing up his ugly gray wig. The old walker in his hands locked up. He scowled and gave it a shove to keep going. 

He really wished he’d taken the other assignment. He’d gladly pretend to be a felon over a grandma any day.

Continuing to hobble down the street, he bemoaned the commitment to job quality he had to adhere to. The polls closed in less than an hour, and he was still several blocks away. There had to be a grandma who could walk faster than three miles per hour, right?

As he made it to the crosswalk (he had standards, alright? Jaywalking was beneath him) and stood to wait for the light to turn white, an unassuming young man stopped next to him. 

Keep it normal. Keep it chill. You are totally a not-actually-dead grandma.

Deciding not to make eye contact, he stared decidedly at the stoplight, mentally willing it to turn white faster.

The second it did, he nearly surged forward into the street, but stopped himself at the last second, remembering he had an audience. 

The sudden application of force aborted by a jerk in the opposite direction meant he nearly toppled head over heels. 

“You okay, ma’am?” 

Crud.

“Ma’am? Do you need help crossing the street?” The man asked again, bending over to try to make eye contact.

“Erm…” I absolutely cannot allow this guy to find out that I’m actually just some guy pretending to be someone’s dead grandma to cast votes for the Deep State.

“Here, take my hand. We can go slow.” The man was far too earnest for this time of night. 

“Thank you, dearie,” his traitorous mouth blurted out. Darn. He secured himself a damn escort, hadn’t he. How was he supposed to commit election fraud under the watchful gaze of a wrong place, wrong time Good Samaritan?

As they slowly inched their way across the crosswalk and back onto the sidewalk, he mentally calculated the time he lost from this encounter. Only a few minutes. I can still make it on time.

“And do you need me to help you home?” No! No more distractions! No more detours!

“Oh, you needn’t bother.” He tried to wrestle the walker away from the man, but found that the handle he was pulling on came clean off. 

“Oh, dear.” CRUD!!

“I’m quite the handyman, if I do say so myself. I’ll just take a quick look and send you off on your merry way, then.” Yes, please, leave!

“Thank you, darling. You know, you remind me so much of my grandson. He’s also quite good at this stuff. I think he went to Harvard for it! Or was it Yale? Oh, dear. I think I’m getting on in my age. Better be off home, so I can rest my old feet on my couch and watch a rerun of The Golden Girls.” He grit his teeth and willed the man to hurry up.

“Oh, you watch that too? How nice! What did you think of—” The man started to yap endlessly about Betty White and her old lady friends, taking his sweet time to reattach the walker handle. Oh, lord, what did he do? That was a floodgate that shouldn’t have been opened. Or touched. Or looked at at all. Curse his loose mouth and commitment to the bit! 

“And that’s when I said—oh, looks like it should be as good as new now! Though I’d like you to perhaps take it on a test run before you go home. I wouldn’t want you to have it break again along the way.” The man pushed the walker back at him and smiled gently. 

“Oh, no, the cold is getting to my old bones. I’d best be going.” He tried to politely smile back at the Good Samaritan turned repairman.

“Please, I insist.”

“No, I need to go.”
“Please. For my worries. You’re so… frail and you shouldn’t have to be out this late. I can help with errands tomorrow, too.” 

“No, please.”

“Just—”

This was getting bad. Time was running out.

“Look, uh, I think I dropped my keys somewhere back. Do you mind fetching them for me?” He spat out, cutting the man off.

“Sure, of course! Want me to help you back the way we—”
“No, no, it’s fine. I can wait right here to catch my breath. I promise I won’t leave this spot.” He was clenching the handles of the walker with such force that he feared it may break again.

“Oh, if you’re sure, okay. Then it’ll take just a minute, promise!”

The man turned around and started back at a brisk pace. He counted to five in his head as he stared at the man’s retreating back before ditching the walker and booking it towards the poll site, other witnesses be damned.

“Huh, what was—”
He ran faster than he had ever run during his career as a professional election fraudster. He just needed to submit this one ballot (and the several thousand stuffed under his grandma gown) and he could head home. Just a little closer…

He burst through the door of the poll site, out of breath and heaving in a manner unlike the average elderly citizen.

He looked at the information table and—

“Sorry, ma’am. We closed an hour ago.”