So, are you voting today? In the primary election? You know, the one that isn't important because we got the good stuff out of the way back in February?

I wasn't really planning on voting, because what's the point? There's nothing interesting on the ballot. Just those near-incomprehensible eminent domain initiatives, a few unchallenged legislative and Assembly contests, and a yawn-o-rama county supervisor race. Who cares? Not me!

Something really incredible would have to happen to get me in that voting booth today. Like, a sign from above. Or a sign from Justin Timberlake. Perhaps he'd remix his hit song "My Love" to include the following stanza:

I can see us holding hands
Walking on the beach, our toes in the sand.
But only if you vote June 3rd
A girl with interest in politics is preferred.

Short of something really incredible like that, I just couldn't see myself caring about anything on the ballot. Until yesterday, when ...

SOMETHING REALLY INCREDIBLE HAPPENED!

I was at Carl's Jr. on Broad Street, waiting for my Bacon Swiss Crispy Chicken Sandwich combo to go, when I noticed a middle-age couple walk in. The guy looked kind of familiar. The guy looked like ... Adam Hill!

Now, I've never actually seen Adam Hill in person before; I only know him from seeing his mug in The Tribune. So I wasn't absolutely certain it was him. But I needed to know whether it was him so that I'd know whether to be star-struck. Like I was the time I saw Tony Cipolla eating lunch at the Grad. ("Action News staaarrrtttss ... NOW!" *swoon*)

So anyway, there I was, standing inside Carl's Jr., gawking at Could-Be Adam Hill. Not nonstop staring, of course — that'd be creepy. I just did that whole quick-glance-now-look-away thing. Repeatedly. For several minutes.

I only stopped because I noticed another middle-age couple walk in. I couldn't help but notice them because the man was really big and tall. In fact, he was about as big and tall as — OMG, it's Jerry Lenthall!

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Could it be that both candidates for 3rd District county supervisor were standing next to each other in line at Carl's Jr., ready to satisfy what was likely a stress-induced hankering for a Western Bacon Cheeseburger, just one day before the primary election? What are the chances?!

I tore open my purse and dug around frantically for my cell phone so I could surreptitiously snap a photo of the two candidates and send it to all my friends, who'd then text back in response: "Who the hell are they?" Because my friends don't work at the local newspaper.

But my phone wasn't in my purse. It was sitting on my desk inside my cubicle, being useless. Of all the days to forget it! I could have had a front-page story on my hands: "3RD DISTRICT RIVALS BROUGHT TOGETHER BY LOVE OF CHARBROILED BURGERS." The paper would sell like hotcakes! Or, more appropriately, like Famous Stars!

I looked over at Adam Hill, who met my gaze. By now I knew the answer, but I just had to ask: "Are you—"

"Yes," he said, cutting me off.

I motioned toward Jerry Lenthall. "Is this some kind of crazy coincidence?"

"Yes," he said again, in a tone of voice that suggested this may have been a little awkward for them, so I probably should stop asking questions. Unfortunately for them, the confirmation that I was standing in a fast-food joint with two political adversaries who probably secretly hate each other's guts just hours before a ballot-box smackdown was too much to handle. I was giddy.

"Oh my god! This is crazy! I totally recognize you guys because I work at The Tribune and I'm always seeing your mugs in the paper! That's so funny," I babbled loudly. I probably would have kept prattling on like that, much to the candidates' dismay, but it was right at that moment that my order number was called. It was also right at that moment that I became aware that I sounded like an idiot, so I grabbed my food and high-tailed it out of there.

But back at the office, as I ate my combo meal, I mulled over what had just occurred. I thought about how everything happens for a reason, and it was clear this was meant to be a wake-up call for me. And it was then, as I thoughtfully chewed a natural-cut french fry, that I came to an important realization:

I don't really like Carl's Jr.