Aaron stood in the back of the courtroom. White men with narrow, pursed lips in starched white shirts, blue ties, and blazers stood shouting on the right side of the aisle. A motley crew of women, men, Blacks, Whites, Asians, Latinos, gays, straights, the young, the infirm, and the elderly stood on the left side of the aisle, shouting – but not as bellicose. Or so thought Aaron. His mother the Republican congresswoman from Tennessee would disagree.
But Aaron could see it. The fork-up-the-butt men on the right side shouted louder, they booed, and they cawed. The tabulation panel in the front tried to count ballots and discuss among themselves, but they couldn’t. Five polyester people sat at the table, shifting cards, looking at hanging chads, bickering among themselves. But they kept going over the same cards.
“All right, I’ve had enough,” shouted an overweight former Santa Claus from the middle of the table. “All of you, be quiet or we’re going to terminate the counting.”
It lasted two minutes. Then a fork-up-the-butt flipped the bird to a black man on the left, he did the same, and before anyone knew it – birds were flipping all over the place. And all at once they started shouting at each other. “Gore Loser!” “Bushwhacker!”
The fat man stood up again. “This session is at an end. Counting the ballots in Miami-Dade County will cease immediately.” He got up and walked out of the room, followed by his four associated.
The fork-up-the-butt men smiled as they left the courtroom, quiet as the cat who swallowed the canary. The motley crew shouted “Injustice!” and went straight out to the reporters. Aaron followed them, but he got caught in his time machine and landed in the middle of the Irish Potato Famine. Unfair. Just when it was getting good.
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