I’ve never voted. I was too young for the 2000 election. I registered to vote in 2004 and obtained an absentee ballot in Michigan to send in while I was at IU, and completely missed the deadline to submit it. But for 2008, I was excited. This morning I walked into the Lawrence Fire Department, still high from last night’s rally. But I got the yes-we-can clear knocked out of me when I pulled out my Michigan driver’s license.

SIDEBAR: Yes. I know. I’ve worked, lived, and played in Indiana going on seven (!!!) years now. The first four? School. Year five and six? Bloomington, which is not actually a town in Indiana, but rather this weird biodome of people from all over who gather to drink and watch basketball. (In other words, out-of-state IDs not only go unnoticed — a large percentage aren’t even valid.) I’ve gone the past nine months thinking, yes, I should get me one of them there Hoosier licenses. But for some reason I just can’t let go of that little laminated card with my home state and address.

You should be aware, however, that an Indiana driver’s license is not required to register to vote in the state of Indiana. I provided a copy of my Michigan license, a copy of my pay stub, and four digits of my social security number, which was to say, “Hi. Yes. I’m one of you. I just have a hologram of the Mitten on my card, and not a horseshoe, or Bobby Knight, or whatever you have on yours.” I got the stamp of approval. I was registered. I had a polling place. And I said just that as I cheerily handed over my ID to the poll clerk. She looked at it like she didn’t know what Michigan was.

“You need an Indiana driver’s license.”

“No. I provided the necessary information to register to vote in the state.”

She called over a manager. He had buggy eyes. They stared at my ID as if looking at it long enough would change its state of origin.

“Did you just move?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you really should have a state ID with your photo on it. You can get into big trouble.”

I waited for men in uniform to start hurling down the fire poles to arrest me. Instead, I was holding up a voting line at 7:30 in the morning, and felt many a pair of eyes burning into the back of my neck. I can’t say which is worse. More volunteers come over. Me and my plastic card are “a situation,” something to be “dealt with.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“She has a Michigan ID.”

“Is she in The Book?”

“I haven’t checked.”

“See if she’s in The Book.”

“She needs to be in The Book.”

“Booky book book book book bookity book.”

I was in the book.

“You need to get this taken care of AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, or you’re gonna run into REAL PROBLEMS come NOVEMBER. YOU need to get an INDIANA PHOTO ID, like TODAY.”

And, I am NOT kidding you, from behind me, in the peanut gallery, I hear someone in the voting line say:

“Are they still issuing driver’s licenses to women?”

They don’t show this shit on CNN.