Hello, quality clothes… well at least a
Hello, and welcome to McDonalds. May I take your order please?
As an American it is highly likely that you have heard this phrase before. We sit in the drive through, tell the person what we want, and good ol' Ronald McDonald takes our money and makes our two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun. We pay for what we get – an equation even the least savvy of mathematicians can comprehend.
As Americans we know that when we buy a movie ticket we are guaranteed a showing that will occupy, if not entertain us for a few hours. When we walk into an Abercrombie & Fitch and drop a hundred dollars we are certain that we'll walk away with some quality clothes… well at least a nice pair of boxer shorts or socks.
That knowledge is bred into us. We learn that when we give someone our money, we should expect something in return. For the most part we should have some say as to what that "something" is.
But over time an exception has formed.
When the dreaded 16th of April rolls around, Americans reach into their padded wallets, pull out a portion of their earnings, grudgingly slip it in an envelope, slap on a stamp, and ship it out to the IRS, never to see it again. Then, we go out with our spouses, family and friends, take a few jabs at the government, complain about taxes breaking our proverbial backs, and then manage to forget about it by the time football season rolls around.
While slightly more difficult than ordering a Happy Meal, deciding where our tax money goes isn't as hard as some would like to make us believe. Our forefathers gave us a clear-cut rout to deciding the fate of our dollars. It's called voting. Perhaps you've tried it, but judging by current voter turn out, you probably haven't.
Voting, a term most are familiar with, but a process which only a minority can relate to. It is our voice, and yet we remain mute as a public b…