Democracy, Hostage Negotiations, and a Dog with Political Opinions

Julie’s Journal | Friday, October 30, 2026

I voted this week.

And I would like to report that democracy is alive and well in Perry Township, Indiana.

My patience, however, is on life support.

What should have been a perfectly pleasant afternoon exercising my constitutional right to vote turned into something resembling a Saturday Night Live skit written by people who had been drinking since breakfast.

Dale and I arrived at our early voting location on a beautiful fall day. The trees were gorgeous. The temperature was lovely. We were prepared to stand in line, enjoy the scenery, and quietly contemplate the importance of participating in our democracy.

That was our first mistake.

Because apparently, in Perry Township, the line to vote doubles as a political networking event, a high-pressure sales convention, and an unsolicited group therapy session.

And we had front-row seats.

The Woman Who Could Not Stop Talking

There were Republican candidates working the line, including one woman associated with the Beech Grove school system who worked the line looking for Beech Grove residents to convince them to support local candidates and discuss Beech Grove issues.

This woman had apparently never encountered a conversation she couldn’t extend by another 20 minutes.

She attached herself to a couple standing immediately in front of us who said they were from Beech Grove and began what I can only describe as a conversational hostage situation.

“Oh, I know them!”

“Oh, I just LOVE them!”

“Yes! Wonderful people!”

Every time the couple mentioned another person, she seemed to know them, adore them, or have some enthusiastic connection to them.

I have spent enough years in business to recognize an aggressive sales pitch.

And I know that there comes a point when you have made the sale, should shake hands, thank the customer, and SHUT UP.

She passed that point approximately five minutes into the conversation.

Unfortunately, she had another 25 minutes of material.

Several times, I thought the conversation had ended.

There would be a pause after she made the ask for their support.

A little silence.

A glorious moment of hope.

And then somebody would mention another name or concern.

OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

Off we’d go again.

Now, I should explain something about myself.

I am not particularly fond of small talk.

My own small talk is exhausting enough. I certainly don’t want to be forced to participate, even as an unwilling audience member, in somebody else’s.

And yet there I stood, trapped between the landscaping and the democratic process, listening to people discuss people and matters I didn’t know, didn’t care to know, and was rapidly developing an irrational dislike for.

I briefly considered chewing through my own arm to escape.

The Cedar Tree Rebellion

Fortunately, nature provided a distraction.

If you live in Indiana, you know those little cedar trees that mysteriously appear in your landscaping.

You pull them out.

They return.

You pull them out again.

They return with relatives.

Well, apparently, they had followed us to the polling place.

Everywhere we looked, there were tiny cedar trees growing among the rocks. Some couldn’t have been more than an inch tall.

“There’s another one.”

“Oh, look! Another one!”

“And another!”

At this point, Dale and I were considerably more interested in identifying miniature evergreens than listening to another minute of political courtship.

The cedars were quiet.

The cedars asked nothing of us.

The cedars were winning our affection by a landslide.

And Now, a Word from Our Unwilling Guest Speaker

Meanwhile, the gentleman in front of us had moved on to discussing his personal finances, taxes, payments, the cost of everything, and assorted other details of his life.

I did not request this information.

I did not subscribe to his newsletter.

I did not ask for the audiobook.

But there it was, playing continuously, without an option to skip the advertisement.

And then I made the unfortunate mistake of looking down.

He was wearing sandals.

Now, I am not suggesting that a pedicure should be required before entering a polling place.

But I am suggesting that if you’re going to hold a captive audience for an hour and a half, perhaps consider the condition of the toes you are displaying.

These were not toes ready for public office.

They were toes with a history.

Between the financial grievances, the political chatter, and the unanticipated foot exhibition, I was beginning to wonder whether I had suffered some sort of mild concussion.

And then, just as we were approaching the entrance and I could practically smell freedom, something terrible happened.

SHE CAME BACK.

The Beech Grove woman.

And this time, she had brought reinforcements.

THE MAYOR.

Apparently, the first 30 minutes of her conversation had merely been the opening act.

Now we were moving into the celebrity endorsement portion of the program.

“Do you know so-and-so?”

“Oh, he’s a great guy!”

“He coached such-and-such!”

More names.

More connections.

More enthusiastic declarations about people who were apparently the finest human beings ever to walk the streets of Beech Grove.

I began wondering whether I could simply announce my vote from the parking lot and leave.

By the time we finally entered the building after an hour and a half in line, I had lost all interest in social interaction for the remainder of 2026.

And Then, Democracy Delivered

We voted.

I finished before Dale and stepped outside into the fresh air, grateful to have survived.

And that’s when the afternoon took a magnificent turn.

There was a sheriff’s officer outside with a large dog that looked something like a poodle.

The dog apparently needed to relieve himself.

There was a perfectly good grassy area nearby.

But the dog had other plans.

He walked over to one of the political yard signs, lifted his leg, and proceeded to urinate directly on Lindsay Cornett’s campaign sign.

I nearly collapsed laughing.

After standing in line listening to an endless stream of political pandering, unsolicited financial disclosures, and people praising everybody they’d ever met, here was a dog who had managed to communicate an entire opinion without saying a single word.

No speeches.

No campaign literature.

No tedious name-dropping.

Just one raised leg and a decisive statement.

Lindsay Cornett, I regret to inform you:

You got pissed on today.

And while I certainly wouldn’t presume to know that dog’s political affiliation, I must say that his communication skills were vastly superior to those of several humans I’d encountered that afternoon.

My Final Thoughts on Democracy

I believe in voting. Deeply.

I believe in showing up, paying attention, and participating in the decisions that shape our communities and our country.

But I also believe that standing in line to vote should not require the psychological endurance of a prisoner undergoing interrogation.

There ought to be a constitutional amendment protecting citizens from involuntary exposure to 30-minute plus conversations about people they don’t know and political arm twisting.

Perhaps another one addressing unsolicited displays of questionable toenails.

And, while we’re at it, a designated quiet zone where introverts can stand peacefully among the cedar trees.

Still, we voted.

We survived.

And we left with a story I suspect I’ll be telling for years.

Because sometimes democracy is solemn and inspiring.

Sometimes it’s noisy and ridiculous.

And sometimes, just when you’ve completely lost faith in the afternoon, a dog comes along and provides the perfect ending.

God bless America. And God bless that dog.

Julie Bolejack, MBA

The Mindful Activist

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