When I was 18 I didn’t care at all about voting. I was a skate boarder working as a dishwasher and living in a tiny apartment in San Francisco with two guys that were pot addicts that played video games all day. The first time I even thought that about voting was when I walked in and they were watching Bill Clinton on the debate stage. When I didn’t show any interest in it they were like, “Are you voting this year?” I just shrugged. “I don’t really care.” I said.
The two pot heads that had probably just stopped playing a 20 hour marathon session of Mortal Combat, long enough to watch the presidential debate, both turned to look at me in disbelief.
“You don’t care who the president is going to be?” One of them asked me.
“Not really…” I started to slowly back out of the room.
They exchanged looks, “But what about abortion, women’s rights, the economy, college?”
I tried to act so cool that I just didn’t care, but they were starting to make me feel a trickle of shame. They were incredulous. “Well, have fun with not caring about the world.” One of them said as I escaped to my room.
The next day I got my sister to help me figure out how to register to vote and I’ve always voted ever since.