Post-modern racism?

Prior to my transatlantic voyage, I ventured to the polls to support mi hombre McCain and vote against O-town’s d-bag of a mayor. While at the polls, a young, mixed race couple (black boy, white girl) was having trouble voting because they were originally registered in other counties, but now reside in the greatest city on Earth (disagree? Read the lead-in). After twenty minutes of waiting, the folks in Tallahassee finally called back, and it was deemed that the young African-American male would indeed be able to vote, but for some unexplained, surely bureaucratically-laden reason, the white woman would not have the opportunity. Upon hearing this, the guy turned to his girlfriend and said, a little too excitedly, I kid you not, “you’re not allowed to vote, you have to get out of here!” I have never had to hold my tongue that badly in my entire life. I actually bit down on it to prevent a, err, mishap. I desperately wanted to make an ironic disenfranchisement joke, but for the sake of my high cheek bones, I refrained. In the immortal words of South Park, “If irony were made of strawberries, we’d all be drinking smoothies right now.”