Here’s the thing about getting older: at some point the world just stops asking who you are. The kid at the gas station takes one look at the gray in my beard, rings up the six-pack, and waves me through like I’m a retired mail carrier he’s known since 1987. Nobody has carded me in years. So when I moved to Eau Claire a year ago, getting a Wisconsin ID landed somewhere on my priority list between “learn to juggle” and “finally read the terms of service.”
Then election season showed up and reminded me that in Wisconsin, you need a valid photo ID to vote. Fair enough. I’m not even mad about it — checking that people are who they say they are seems like a reasonable thing for a democracy to do. So I set out to do the responsible adult thing.
Operation: Prove I Exist
I went to the Wisconsin DMV website and read the list of everything you need to prove you’re a real human who actually lives here. Birth certificate. Social Security card. Proof of address — a power bill, the works. Basically a dossier.
Small problem: my birth certificate and Social Security card were in Florida. Because when I moved, I packed the coffee maker and the guitars and apparently decided the documents proving my legal existence could stay behind and enjoy the humidity. So I had to call my parents — as a grown man — and ask them to mail me the paperwork that says I was born. Nothing makes you feel like a competent adult quite like that phone call.
Eventually I had it all in one folder. The Folder. Birth certificate, Social Security card, power bill, everything a bureaucrat could possibly want. My girlfriend needed a state ID too, so she built her own Folder. We were ready for war.
You Can Make an Appointment at the DMV Now. Who Knew.
I don’t drive, so the bus is my chariot. My mental picture of the DMV was the classic one: show up, pull a number, stand in line long enough to grow a second beard, and then try to time my exit with a bus schedule that operates on vibes.
Turns out you can schedule an appointment. Online. Like a dentist. I did not know this was a thing, and I’ve been alive a long time.
So we booked a 1:30, rode the bus out, got there early, and braced ourselves for the disaster. I’m talking crying babies, broken number machines, a guy arguing about his parking ticket in a building that doesn’t handle parking tickets.
We walked in and the place was almost empty. The woman at the counter looked at us and said our appointment was at 1:30, but she’d just take us now.
I didn’t know what to do with that. It’s like bracing for a punch and getting a hug.
The Folder Goes Unopened
I pulled out The Folder, ready to lay out my entire existence on the counter. She said, “Let me see your current ID.” I handed it over. She typed a few things off of it, said “Okay, let me take your picture,” snapped it, and told me the new ID would be in the mail in about 10 days.
That was it.
The birth certificate my parents mailed across the country? Never left the folder. The Social Security card? Didn’t even get to say hi. The power bill? Still waiting for its moment in the spotlight. I’m not complaining about a fast DMV visit — I will take that every day of the week — but isn’t it a little weird that the stuff the website said I absolutely needed was apparently optional? I was ready for a deposition and got a drive-thru.
Election Day: The Folder’s Big Comeback (It Didn’t Have One)
So today I went to vote. And because I’m a learner, I brought The Folder to the polling place. The new ID hasn’t shown up yet, so I had the paper copy from the DMV, plus every document that proves I live where I live.
They didn’t ask for my address verification. They didn’t ask for anything in The Folder. I’m two for two on carrying around a brick of personal documents that nobody wants to look at. At this point The Folder is less of a filing system and more of an emotional support binder.
The Robot That Reads You the Ballot (Calm Down, It’s Not Computer Voting)
I used the accessible voting machine — and before anybody grabs a pitchfork, no, it’s not “computer voting.” It’s a machine that reads the ballot out loud to you. You press buttons, it marks your choices, and it prints out a regular paper ballot. That’s the whole trick. It exists so people who can’t easily see or fill in a tiny oval can still vote like everybody else.
Speaking of those tiny ovals: why are we still doing those? We live in an age where your refrigerator can text you, and the gold standard for democracy is still “color inside this little bubble with a pen that’s been chained to a desk since the Clinton administration.” Little fucking dots. In 2026.
Why Are the Republicans on Top?
Here’s the question that bugged me the whole bus ride home. On the ballot, the Republicans were listed above the Democrats. Why? You’d think it’d be alphabetical — D comes before R, last I checked — or random, or at least a coin flip.
So I looked it up. Wisconsin law says the party whose candidate got the most votes for the top office in the last general election gets listed first. The last general election was 2024, the top race was president, Wisconsin went Republican, so the Republicans get the penthouse suite on the ballot for 2025-2026. When Democrats win the state, they go on top. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s a participation trophy for whoever won last time.
Mystery solved. Still annoying.
The Bottom Line
I got my ID. I voted. I did my part to try and kill fascism in this country. Let’s hope it worked.
And if anyone at the Eau Claire DMV or my polling place ever wants to see a beautifully organized folder of every document proving I’m me, I’m right here. I’ve got it with me. I always have it with me now.