The Lonely Republican

Let me recount my first experience with Janice and the ladies. It was in the early '90s - the California gubernatorial primary. I walked into the polling station at about 8:30 in the morning, its busiest time. Janice was at the desk. I gave her my name and address and her face lit up.

"Oh! You're Rob!" She called over to the other ladies. "Hey, everyone! It's Rob!"

They all crowded around, smiling happily. "Did I win something?" I asked.

"No, no," said Janice. "It's just that, well, we were hoping you'd come. When we set out the ballots this morning we noticed how... how special you are."

She waved to the stacks of unpunched ballots. On one side, a tall sloping pile - almost two feet tall - of ballots marked democrat. And on the other, a single, lonely ballot marked republican. Mine. For me. Santa Monica's special voter. "Wow," I said.

"Lemon bar?" asked Janice, helpfully.

It's a strange feeling, knowing your vote doesn't make a difference, that there's no way your conservative-kinda guy can ever make the cut. Here in Santa Monica (sometimes referred to as the People's Republic of Santa Monica) Trotsky is remembered as a capitalist tool.
...
"Aren't you humiliated," a friendly neighbor once asked me, "to be the only Republican around? I mean, doesn't that make you think that maybe your beliefs are, like, crazy?"