Until I start sinking

Yeah, the ‘Pubs were displaying their colors yesterday—no element of fuckery was too blatant or too petty for them to omit. After reading about all the voting machines in Georgia that were non-operational (in largely African American precincts) because the guy in charge of running elections for the entire state (white Brian Kemp, who’s also the R candidate for governor and running against a Black woman—how’s that for a conflict of interest?) somehow ensured that the precincts were not issued…power cords, I just lost it.

Racist robocalls claiming to be from Oprah, illegally purging the voter rolls and dogwhistles from the Kleptocrat and his closet VP weren’t enough. Gotta just outright sabotage the polling places.

Work offered no respite, either, as we had a palace coup last Thursday and I’m still finding out who’s been purged. Because clearly the LEED-certified walls of our building would crumble if any actual communication were ever to take place.

As an aside—and combining the chicanery of voter suppression with the surrealism of my employer—on Monday the new HR director sent us an email reminding us of both our civic duty and what the company will put up with, viz:

Yes, the highlighting/bolding are hers. She’s basically telling us that even though they’re technically required to give us an hour on the clock to go vote, they’re on to our shifty ways, and they know what times the polls in the area open and close, so we’d better not try to claim that hour, or there’ll be some ‘splaining to do, Loocie. This place has the highest density of PhDs outside an R1 university, and the HR director is telling us all that we cannot be trusted to use the allowed hour for its designated purpose—we could be getting our nails done, or stopping off for a beer with that hour—and that she’s got eyes on us.

In short, mood: