This week, I played a part in history. I waited outside in a gusty wind for nearly two hours to vote for the President of the United States. It was both incredibly frustrating and highly intoxicating.

We are in the 21^st century, right?

See, I live in a bizarre little microcosm of Charlotte, right over the North Carolina/South Carolina state line, which incidentally happens to fall somewhere in the middle of Lake Wylie. (The state line sign actually hangs from the bottom of Buster Boyd Bridge for every boat and Sea-Doo owner to see.) And while I am from Charlotte, went to school in Charlotte, and work in Charlotte, I still technically live in Lake Wylie, S.C. Which means there was no early registration for me.

It also means that instead of going to a local church or nearby public school to vote, I had to wait in a crazy line that circled some 1970s storage facility and wound its way past the local fire department before ushering me into the tiny building that serves as the office and lounge for area volunteer firemen.

Despite the utter insanity of it all, I walked away happy — as, apparently, most other American voters did. I later found out that two hours was pretty much the norm when it came to the voting process of Nov. 4, 2008.

For nearly 120 minutes, I stood there making lifelong friends (or so it seemed) with the people in line around me. There was the woman who is part owner of the local restaurant T-Bones; there was the man who grew up in Steele Creek, not far from where my parents still live; and there was the woman who, like me, graduated from a Charlotte-Mecklenburg school in 1989 and remembers all too well the experience of hearing gunshots at high-school football games. (But that was another day in history.)

When you stand in line with people for two hours, you become close. What can I say. I know more about these people than some of my own relatives. 

But it was all worth it when I finally got to vote, my heart beating in my chest with all the gusto of a Harding High drum corp.

When I was finished, I hightailed it to Starbucks for the free coffee promised me for doing my civic duty.

I didn’t really need the coffee, however. I was pumped up with the fruits of idealism, the dream of democracy, and, oh yeah, friendship.