Good, patriotic South African I am, I stood in a pass office-like queue for well over an hour (I am not complaining) to cast my vote for my favourite party.
Standing in an almost static queue in icy wind has its challenges, but it can also give one the chance to "bond" with the most important people in this country, sometimes referred to as "ordinary South Africans".
It started off badly, though.
Some (white) teenager went up and down the queue distributing pamphlets for a horse-riding school.
When she came to the (black) fellow in front of me, he stuck out his hand to receive the pamphlet. The girl sized him up from top to toe, gave him the pamphlet, remarking bitterly: "I don't think you will be able to afford it."
That nearly sparked a race riot, which would have been heavily loaded in favour of the darkies.
A not-too-pretty black woman, built like a combination between Mike Tyson and Maria Mutola, clenched her fists, took a step forward and demanded to know what the teenager meant.
The other people in the queue got excited too and had the girl stayed a minute longer, they would have needed an ambulance (or mortuary van) to remove her from the scene.
They lie when they say the truth will always set you free. It almost got that arrogant, stupid and insensitive girl killed.
But then, the brother, like many of us in that queue, did not look like he could afford horse-riding lessons.
When a man uses a piece of wire to keep his takkies from literally falling apart, horse-riding lessons are not normally an option.
I thought Nike would ask him to remove their badge from what was left of the shoes.
Nice guy, though he took the insult in his stride and, in impeccable English, told the small crowd around him that he believed - "like the man I am going to vote for" - that there is nothing wrong with stealing "nicely".
A white fellow, obviously not too educated, asked him to "defenate" what he meant.
"I crack a joke, you laugh, while you are still laughing, I take your stuff and vanish. That way I don't hurt you," he retorted as the comedian in him played up.
If you read this mate, I hope you were not serious.
My favourite for the day, though, was the old lady who stood immediately behind me in the queue.
I stupidly asked her if she was not over 60 years old, though it was clear she was dangerously close to 100.
Wrinkles, hunchback, green eyes, one or two teeth left in the mouth, tiny snow-white kinky hair, the shakes - the works. She did not have to stand in the queue.
She looked at me as if I had hurled her a cruel insult, and said "hayi" and ignored me.
I said "askies" and tried to mind my own business.
A marshal spotted her later and asked her nicely: "Ag shame, gogo, you don't have to queue..."
The old lady looked away and said nothing.
Just when she was about to say"voetsek", the marshal got the hint and moved off apologetically.
For the rest of the wait, I kept my peace...