No matter who wins or who is expected to win, I’m always giddy on Election Day because I love the excitement.

I guess it’s because I’m a reporter.

While many of you are stuck at home refreshing the county clerk’s website and watching the news — Maybe I’ll have a beer and a sullen hunch — I set up camp at the courthouse. The county clerk gives me every return batch from every county. The paper was still at printer temperature when it hit my hands.

Rather than obsessing over who will obviously win, I focus on the quirks of the races.

C.S. Lewis once wrote something that stated that as long as a man is riding a horse, he feels good, whether it is a battle won or lost. This is what it feels like to cover an election.

But another reason I love Election Day is because voting is exciting.

My mom texted me on Tuesday to tell me the line at the Riverton voting center stretched all the way to the road. This is in a building now diplomatically called “Fremont Center”.,but for decades it was known as “The Armory”“ It’s a much cooler title that I still attribute to it.

Who would trade an “arsenal” for a “center”? The building isn’t in the center of anything, but it does have a strange, dank vault that looks like it could store thousands of weapons.

When we go there to eat, I beg my kids not to lock themselves in the safe because I don’t know if anyone alive knows how to unlock the safe.

We’d have to dig up the building to get my kids out of there, and wouldn’t that help convince everyone that I’m a solid, reasonable news anchor?

Thinking I could avoid the long line, I headed south to Arapahoe, a small town on the nearby reservation where the line to vote was reportedly much shorter.

That was about 30, or 1/10, the number of voters Riverton had expected.

But it wasn’t any faster. The line did not move for five, sometimes eight minutes. My husband held my spot in line and I went out to take the exit poll.

When I came back inside I saw The Husband had only advanced three steps in 20 minutes, I patted him on the shoulder and told him I would try my luck in Riverton. I would later learn that most Arapahoe voters were registering for the first time or after a break, and that election officials did not cull the new voters into their ranks until after I left.

Meanwhile, my mom texted me and said she voted and had time to pick up my kids from school. Shortly after this, he texted that he and the boys were going to make campaign signs.

“Absolutely do not post ANY photos of my children holding campaign signs,” I pleaded. “WE WILL NOT BE ABLE TO CAMPAIGN IN THE ELECTION”

My mother, the pink boa color of my black suit, chirped in response., “Oh, idiot, for class president.”

I slapped my forehead.

The twins are running for class president. I encouraged them to only promise their constituents things they have control over., “I will humbly suggest to the teacher that maybe we can choose a computer game after we finish our work.”

This was made for some bad flyers.

So my mom printed me voting cards for each twin and sent them home with a roll of tape so they could put candy on the cards and bribe voters.

Thank you mom.

Meanwhile, in Riverton, I stood in a snowstorm for half an hour.

Then, shivering, I entered the open door and tried to understand the shape of the line inside. He zigzagged, then passed through a side room (not the gun safe), then zigzagged and zigzagged twice, then darted to a table, almost apologetic when they asked for my ID because they’d known me since I was a kid. I witnessed my most embarrassing moments.

Zigs and zags led to some temporary encounters. At one point I saw the guy who was helping teach me how to drive (a mechanic who worked for my dad in my late teens) and tried to catch up with him, but our lines were going in opposite directions and I stupidly shouted goodbye. in its place.

When it was finally my turn, I voted.

Then I walked back into the cold. Of course, I’m grateful for the chance to vote, but I’m also grateful to see the entire town that made me who I am, standing in single file.

Clair McFarland can be reached at [email protected].