A Story By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures
In the heart of the dusty plains, where tumbleweeds rolled lazily across the horizon, sat the humble town of Booterville. A place so small it didn’t even appear on most maps. Known for little more than its annual chili cook-off and the town’s general store, Booterville got entrusted with one of the most critical tasks in the 2024 election: hand-counting every vote nationwide.
Rumor had it that some miscommunication at a high level led to Booterville’s selection. The plan had been simple: With all the national turmoil surrounding electronic voting machines, distrust of mail-in ballots, and other voting controversies, someone high up had the idea to return to a “simpler” method—hand counting. Unfortunately, the job landed in the laps of Booterville’s only two permanent residents qualified to take on the task: Earl and Maude Jenkins.
Earl and Maude, both pushing 80, had stayed in Booterville for decades. Earl was a retired mailman with a sharp eye for sorting, while Maude was known for her days as the town librarian, meticulous in her record-keeping, and famous for knitting scarves with perfect symmetry. Together, they formed what the nation had come to call the “Election Duo.”
As election night approached, the rest of the country anxiously prepared for the returns. Cable news channels buzzed with frantic energy. Experts spoke confidently about the “return to integrity” with hand-counted ballots. However, they could only explain how it was physically possible for two people to count hundreds of millions of votes promptly. Analysts debated whether the results would come in within hours, days, or—worst case—months.
Booterville, meanwhile, was calm, as always. Earl and Maude sat on their front porch, sipping sweet tea, staring at the horizon where, in just a few hours, trucks would arrive carrying boxes upon boxes of ballots from all over the country.
Election night finally arrived, and the nightmare began.
The first truck pulled up right on time—around 9 p.m.—loaded with crates of ballots from California. Earl scratched his head and squinted at the car, which stretched longer than the main street of Booterville itself.
“Well, I reckon we best get started,”
He muttered.
As Maude gingerly opened the first crate, the magnitude of the task became apparent. Inside were hundreds of thousands of paper ballots, each needing to be verified, double-checked, and counted by hand. Earl retrieved an abacus from their parlor, confident that the ancient method would sufficiently tally the votes.
Across the nation, voters stared at their television screens.
“Booterville still hasn’t reported any results,”
Frustrated news anchors from CNOX and FONN NEWS networks chimed in, saying in general –––
“Our experts say we should have heard from at least the smaller states by now.”
Booterville, however, wasn’t so much concerned with the rush. Ever the perfectionist, Earl spent twenty minutes on each ballot, inspecting signatures, verifying dates, and ensuring no Chad hung loosely from the corners.
Maude cross-referenced each voter’s name with meticulously kept records from her days as a librarian. She spent additional time knitting if any name seemed unfamiliar while contemplating its legitimacy.
By midnight, the panic had spread. Election officials from every state began ringing Booterville’s single landline, asking for updates. But halfway through her evening tea, Maude had turned off the ringer to avoid distractions. Earl had managed to count precisely 72 ballots.
By morning, networks were abuzz with speculation. Some suggested Earl and Maude were holding the election hostage, while others theorized a deep conspiracy in which Booterville’s hand-counting was a covert means of election tampering. In truth, Earl and Maude were simply slow workers.
As the days dragged on, Earl and Maude remained unphased. They didn’t own a television, and Maude had never been a radio fan. They were blissfully unaware that the world was falling apart outside of Booterville. Mass protests erupted in cities, with demands for transparency. Accusations flew between political parties.
In some corners of the internet, Booterville became a symbol of resilience; in others, it became a meme, representing all that was wrong with the electoral process.
Two weeks later, the National Guard arrived. They politely knocked on Earl and Maude’s door, requesting an update on the election. Maude, unperturbed, invited them in for tea and showed them the ballots neatly stacked in her living room. The guards, bewildered, nodded and promised to relay their findings back to the capital.
Finally, in mid-December, a breakthrough occurred. After endless negotiations, Booterville agreed to let nearby towns assist in the counting process. Volunteers, election experts, and even some former contestants from the chili cook-off converged on Booterville to save the election.
But even with the new help, it took another month before all the votes got tallied.
As Earl and Maude sat together on New Year’s Eve, looking out at the winter stars, Earl leaned back in his chair and said,
“You know, Maude, I think we’ve done a fine job. Every vote, fair and square.”
Maude, knitting a scarf with perfect stitches, smiled and nodded. They never knew their efforts had plunged the nation into one of the most prolonged and chaotic elections in history. But to them, it was just another quiet day in Booterville.
Earl did ask Maude,
“You know, in this day and age, you’d think they’d have computerized machines that could count these voting ballots in a much more accurate manner than the one everyone just went through. It might take a week or so, but they could tally all the votes with computers if everyone in the nation were to vote. Has anyone ever thought of that?”
Maude said,
“No, and if they did, some idiot would try to say they were stealing the election or something.”
Earl replied,
“Surely no one would believe something like that.”
Maude, rocking back and forth in her rocker, replied ––
“Well, they expected us to count every national vote by hand overnight, so that should tell you something about the people we are talking about.”
Earl just grumbled.
The End.
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