i hereby relinquish my 19th amendment right

As I was walking yesterday to the NYC public school where my district casts its votes, a young woman in a “Hail Satan” sweatshirt walked past me. Right there on 8th Avenue. I’d never seen anything like it before, even for this city. I muttered the phrase incredulously after she passed, and tried to refocus my energy on this chance to make a difference around here. But I should have taken the entire scene as an omen. For there I was, walking in through the cafeteria doors, not really taking in my surroundings at the polling place. I wanted to get in and get out. Deposit my vote. Take a big dump of hopes and dreams right in the crapper that is Midtown Manhattan while asking the worker to look at my ID. It’s supposed to be a local race, but this sure felt like the worldwide eyes were upon us.

I had been debating whether or not I should even vote. What was the point? I was hoping there’d be enough cool people still left in the city who wanted Cat Man at the helm. But I should have known better. The Radical was already the choice made long ago. They told me a vote for Cat Man is a vote for The Radical. Even the President of the United States said it. But then other people kept telling me a vote for The Dynasty Brat is a vote against The Radical. So I better vote for the Dynasty Brat to save us all from The Radical! And he still lost! Just like I knew he would!

Sigh. It’s all so tiresome, isn’t it? Here I was, locked in this cycle of mad hope, the illusion of choice in a pre-determined race, and I threw it all away to perform what I thought was my civic duty. Instead, I just bought another four-year ticket to a performance that could possibly be the cringiest one yet.

So next time I get a chance to vote, I’m not going to do it.

Really, who wants to put themselves through that again? Were my vibes of real momentum not enough? I had to put a legally-binding stamp on the whole process? Oh lord. What on earth have I done?

Now, The Radical and I will never be friends. I don’t want to be around someone who smiles to my face and 100% talks shit behind my back. That’s the vibe I’m getting from him and those who post photos of themselves showcasing who got their vote. I’m not willing to play mafioso and “keep my enemies closer,” I’m trying to start a family here. I have a home in New Jersey I can find safe haven in, so once I get adequate transportation and a deal at work where I don’t have to be in the city, The Garden State is where I’ll lay down roots. I don’t need to relinquish my New York City apartment, because it’s mine. It’s where I spend all my time these days, as there’s nothing out there this city can offer me right now. It’s a miserable experience being here. It’s dirty, it smells bad, and I witness one form or another of human tragedy every time I walk home. Who wants to willingly put themselves through that?

My problem was I thought by some divine miracle, my vote would matter this time. And it didn’t. People have been telling me for ages how politics is just one big mind game, how voting doesn’t really matter, and it’s all rigged, no matter which side of the political aisle is in power. Last night clinched that for me. I now feel justified in my disappointment. I’ll never vote in any election again at this rate, and it’s entirely my choice to do that. But I did. And for now, I’m stuck with The Radical, and I helped get him elected because I voted in the first place. And you know what? I hope he actually makes some positive changes around here. Because New York City needs them. And maybe we’ll get lucky and this place will become a “socialist paradise” like Tokyo. Or Chongqing, depending on which online influencer is offering the opinion.

New York City should have been a local election. But we all know it wasn’t. The polls were right (this time), and assholes made a lot of money off it. And so I’m the one with egg on my face as the Theater Kids get four years of bragging rights. The bad news for them is I too am stuck in the theater, walking past the doors knowing it was a trap. I have interests in this city too, and my ticket entitles me to voice them. And I have absolutely no problem in letting my inner Karen out to do just that. So I’ll hurl my boos every time I see fit, considering how many unacceptable quality-of-life conditions there are around here that they’ve conditioned us to live with.

And there’s something else they didn’t anticipate: The eyes upon them. They’re so clearly in the spotlight now, them and all their friends. And now there’s the threat of knowing just how much federal money was really keeping this place flush with corruption. What if that gets taken away? Then we’ll truly be on our own, and I feel we’re broker than we let on. And should anything comes to the “rescue” done through dirty deeds? It will be found out. Mr. Mamdani last night told President Trump, to, quote, “Turn the volume up,” which I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like something an Orange Man hype man would say. Turn the volume up? You mean keep going full steam as his administration has been doing? At least that’s the play I’ve been watching the past year. The one I get to dictate because my guy won that one. And I’m not sure you guys are going to like an Orange storm hitting the east and west U.S. coastlines. So you better play nice and make good on all those promises or else you’ll be thrown out too. And believe me, I wouldn’t want to have the problems you’re bound to have should any of that actually happen.

At this point, I don’t want to be a part of it, New York, New York. This will always be my birthplace and a place I call home, but no more pretending anything will get me out of this other than myself. I can start by choosing my right to not vote next time, so maybe I can see the change I want without all the drama that comes along with it. I really suck at this whole politics thing, so it’s time to back out. Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll be forced to do a special election next year so my final curtain call comes early.