It took me nearly 13 minutes to fill out my long ballot

Voting is your civic duty. With that in mind, I ask you not to show up to the polls if you vote like me.

The problem isn’t for whom I voted. They will all make outstanding public servants until the FBI arrests them.

The problem is that if everybody who votes next Tuesday takes my approach the polls might not close until Thanksgiving.

The lines will be longer than the one to get into Universal’s Harry Potter ride during spring break. And once in, you sure won’t be done in four minutes.

After reading so much about the incoming blue/red waves of voters expected to crash ashore next week, I decided to vote early.

“You timed it right,” the volunteer said as she handed me the ballot. “It’s been busy.”

So the line wasn’t a problem. What came next was.

I looked at the ballot — two ballot sheets. Each was about 10 feet long with writing on both sides.

The first few questions were easy enough – Senator, Governor, Soil and Water Conservation District Supervisor District 2.

Soil and what?

Being a responsible and conscientious citizen, I don’t like voting on things I’m clueless about. I left that one blank and can only hope it doesn’t swing the election toward some corrupt supervisor who will sell our soil and water rights to Russia.

Ditto on the judge races.

Then I hit the real head scratchers the amendments.

There are 12 of them, and God help us if everybody who shows up next Tuesday adopts my voting strategy.

My prep work consisted of reading Sentinel columnist Scott Maxwell’s scouting report. If only I hadn’t forgotten to bring it with me.

I remember he advised to vote “No” on everything except amendments 3 and 10. Or was it 4 and 11?

Right about then, a guy saddled up to the little voting booth next to mine. “Stephen, how ya doing?” he said. He’d mistaken me for my twin brother. I told him who I was and we shared a laugh.

A minute later, he whispered, “Crap, I didn’t study any of the judges. Where’s my wife? Maybe she’s got a clue. Do you know anything about the amendments?”

I knew that they are written in a combination of gobbledygook and legalese, and half the time they’d do the exact opposite of what you think.

After another minute, the guy’s wife showed up and took the voting booth next to him.

“Do you know anything about the amendments?” he asked her.

She shook her head.

I started worrying that a poll worker might see us whispering and snatch our ballots. But I guess voters are allowed to discuss things since it’s their vote.

The guy on the other side of me was on his phone. He wasn’t speaking English, but it sounded more like he was ordering a pizza than asking who’d be the best Soil and Water Conservation Supervisor for District 2.

After another couple of minutes of staring at the gobbledygook, I voted on three amendments I was relatively clear on. Then I put the ballots in the manila folder and checked my watch.

It’d taken me 12 minutes and 49 seconds.

The guy next to me told me how he’d decided on the judge races.

“I just went with the girls,” he said. Democracy at work.

I’d also been timing a man and woman that had been handed their ballots when I had. They were well-dressed and seemed sophisticated.

It took them 16 minutes and 52 seconds. They also must have forgotten their copy of Maxwell’s “Voting for Dummies.”

The lesson here is that the real civic duty isn’t voting. It’s preparing to vote.

If you don’t feel like doing it for Rick Scott, Andrew Gillum or the Soil and Water Conservation Supervisor in District 2, please do it for the people in line behind you.