That was Friday afternoon, at the Salt Lake County Government Center.

I'm here to report the sky did not tumble down around us. No voting machines exploded. I saw no nefarious characters hanging around, just waiting for a chance to hack into the computers. And believe me, as a newswoman who keeps her eyes peeled for dark conspiracies, I would have noticed.

My favorite partner in political wonkiness - my husband - stood with me in a post-lunch hour queue for 35 minutes. We did not faint from thirst. Our legs got a little wobbly, but held us upright long enough to exercise the franchise.

The line snaked through a series of ropes and metal poles that made the experience something like waiting for Disneyland's Space Mountain ride on the first day of summer vacation. You know how it is. Inching along, slowly rounding the curves, you're tricked into thinking it isn't such a long line.

The whole voting experience did remind me - a little - of Disneyland. People were laughing. They were talking to each other, complete strangers jumping into one conversation after another. They seemed resigned to the long wait and determined to make a good time of it.

It was fun.

I just thought that on Election Day, if you hadn't already joined tens of thousands of other Utahns by voting early, I would warm you up with this little sell job. Election officials have done a dynamite job of rolling out worst-case scenarios about long lines and possible glitches. It's their job to anticipate the worst that can happen, after all. We've heard of machine shortages and of preparing for shock of the new. Visions of people sputtering and melting down while incorrectly inserting their access cards have danced through our heads.

But look at it this way: At least we no longer fear the dreaded hanging paper chad.

I've always loved the aura that surrounds the civic duty of Election Day, and electronic voting machines can only be an enhancement. Punching the card, pulling the lever or touching a computer screen - it's all good. It's a feeling of power every two years like no other. Depending on how you perceive the system and those who run it, you can spend 729 days either rejoicing or writhing in frustration. And then you get the opportunity on day 730 to stamp the status quo or take one big do-over.

There are social perks. Election Day tends to loosen people up, encourages banter. These are healthy signs in a society as rushed and given to isolation as ours. In Oregon, everyone votes by mail. Easier, maybe, on the election process, but I'm afraid I would miss the chat.

Waiting in line last week, I met Barbara Patrick, a nurse and political activist. Mindful of our surroundings, we took care not to get partisan in our discussion. But trust me, the woman is well-informed.

In front of Barbara was a young mother with her baby girl. The woman is also a nurse, and works at the Huntsman Cancer Center. By the time we reached the voting machines, Barbara had the woman convinced she should pursue a master's.

Utahns have a tradition of civic-mindedness and the Election Day forecast today is warm and dry. If you have any trepidation about the new machines, don't worry.

You won't have a better time today standing in line.

hmullen@sltrib.com