NSW Election: Sausage-Shaped Disappointment

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Every few years people gather at their local schools and try to overthrow the government, and not one police officer will try to stop them.

There are two timeless traditions most people will observe during every election.

The first is avoiding eye contact with party volunteers as they hand you colourful flyers to recycle, and the second is the sausage sizzle.

Oh, and something about casting a ballot.

I had pitched the idea (stupidly, in retrospect) to my editor that the real story was not in the voting booths but at the barbecues.

My motto is to Die Hard or nothing, and seeing the opportunity to legitimately die hard I made my case.

"Let's not allow petty politics get in the way of the real story," I said to him.

I then made a gesture with my arm intended to communicate the concept of Die Hard.

It must have worked because on election day, I traveled almost 200km in my tiny Honda, which henceforth shall be referred to as the "wiener-mobile".

The following is the tale of one reporter's descent into madness as he gradually became more sausage than man.

The master plan was to hit 12 barbecues or be admitted to the emergency room, whichever came first.

The first stop on the sausage trail was Westmead Public School, and I have to say it was a fantastic start to the day.

The trail had started out well, as they usually do, but little did I know it was a build-up to a massive let down.

By the time I arrived at the newly-opened high school at The Ponds, I was informed that the sausage sizzle had just ended.

The master plan was to hit 12 barbecues or be admitted to the emergency room, whichever came first.

At the time, to say I was feeling relieved would have been an understatement.

Though I would have been only halfway through the sausage trail, I was already beginning to smell like BBQ sauce and regret.

Eventually I made my way to Emu Heights Public School, where once again I was told that the barbecue had ended.

"Ah shucks," I said, doing my best impersonation of an impoverished chimney sweep.

But then it kept happening again — and again!

By 3pm most of the sausage sizzles had been packed up; the only evidence of their existence was the faint smell of fried onions.

Though our election coverage had tripled the posts of every other news site, he was really banking on me over-eating until I blacked out.

Did early polling and iVote kill the sizzle? Was the spirit of democracy the price for convenience? Probably not. 

But even after stuffing myself with enough meat to fall under animal protection laws, I couldn't help but be disappointed.

Settling for some treats from the cake stall that was still open, I made my way back to the office as the polls came to a close.

The day had turned out to be a profound disappointment for our editor.

Though our election coverage had tripled the posts of every other news site, he was really banking on me over-eating until I blacked out.

We begrudgingly settled on pizza which had pieces of sausage on it. But it just wasn't the same...

Even so, that day I got to bite into democracy, and it tasted like a sausage sanger.

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