Because, as I write, it is Halloween, I am wearing a butcher's cleaver through my head. It's a blood splattered butcher's cleaver and it does look an awful lot like it's sticking through my skull. Hundreds and hundreds of people are coming through my library for early voting and none of them are wearing Halloween costumes. This epic two hour line, in a Pandemic, to vote in the most emotionally fraught election of our lifetimes, is serious business. No vampires. No ghosts. No pumpkins. Just me with a cleaver through my head.
Sometimes people look at me and laugh or smile, and I have a half-second of "What?" Then I remember: It's funny how I have a cleaver through my head! I find myself in more than a few jokey conversations about my "splitting headache". Once I went out to the front desk and said to a co-worker who just showed up for work "Keep an eye out. There was a lunatic in here a little while ago hurling knives at people. I was almost hit, but fortunately I ducked just in time!" That one got a pretty good laugh.
Mostly though, people just stare at me and don't say anything. It's a bit unnerving, but I accept it. I'm terribly fond of Halloween, and if I have to carry it all by myself this year so be it. I'm willing to take the hit.