The line serpentines across the elementary school auditorium floor, from the well-worn folding tables at the front to the large standing fan in the back. The people in it at this early hour (just right of 7 a.m.) are not of one race, one color, one creed, one age. There are African-American women and Polish-American men. There are young couples with strollers and elderly couples with walkers and canes. There are quite a few very cute women and at least one devastating redhead.
But I'm not here for the architecture, the cross-section of humanity or even the devastating redhead. We're all here for the same purpose. We're here to vote.
The line snakes slowly forward. There is a row of folding chairs; some voters take a seat, some stand and shift weight from one foot to the other, some flip through paperbacks to pass the time. Occasionally, someone jumps out of our line and into the other, shorter line for the other precinct voting in the auditorium. Seems one of the election volunteers--a silver-haired man in gray sweats--has been sending voters to the wrong line. More than one election judge gets up to chastise him; he looks entirely befuddled by their ire.
Even with such delays, the line moves on until it's my turn at the folding table. My ID is out. My address and signature are verified. I'm given a ballot the size of an infant's blanket. I head for an empty booth.
The system is an odd one--with a black pen given to you by the election judge ("Please return the pen when you're finished voting," she asks politely--apparently, this has been a big enough problem that, in previous elections, polling places have run out of pens), you fill in the space between the arrowhead and arrowtail to indicate the candidate of your choice. Reminds me of all those tests I took in elementary school--appropriate given the location, I suppose.
My vote is cast. My ballot is fed into the machine. It does not error out. I walk out into the unseasonably warm November morn know that not only have I proudly done my civic duty, but that many, many others before and after me were doing the same.
1 comment:
*high five* As much as I love the mail-in ballots of Oregon, I kind of miss going into a booth and casting my vote that way.
I just talked to Andy, who is hanging out with my sister. They're having a grand old time watching the results at Leona's. JEALOUS. Now I have to get ready for work and then, you know, work while all this is going down. Wehhhhhh.
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