As everyone knows, yesterday was the day to vote. (Unless, of course, you are one of those uber organized people that sent it your ballot ahead of time) From listening to the news, I was prepared to wait in huge lines. I really had to think about when I would have the biggest chunk of time available in order to do this. I decided that first thing in the morning would be best.
So I dropped Mimi off at her bus stop and headed to my assigned voting place. Which interesting happens to be different than Shaun’s…despite the fact that we share a residence, last name and party. Go figure.
My voting place is at an elementary school. I knew I was in trouble when the road leading to it was basically a very slow moving parking lot. I had no choice but to wait in line and hope I was able to vote before I had to abandon my spot in order to get to work in time. Luckily for me, all those cars and busses were waiting to get into the junior high next door to the elementary school. Whew!
To my amazement, there were only a couple of voters there before me. I waited in line behind one man who turned out to not be in line, but waiting with his camera to capture his daughter voting for the first time ever. I knew it was going to be an emotional day when that sight made me tear up.
I was given the choice of an electronic or paper ballot. Being the hands-on type of girl I am, I went with paper and pen. (yeah yeah) I carefully marked my choices and went to slip my ballot in the slot. It came right back out. I shoved it right back in and it was promptly spit back out. The very young
referee volunteer came over to see if she could help. She discovered that I had “over-voted”…not that either of us knew what that meant. With the help of a veteran poll worker we figured out that I had started to mark one, but had changed my mind when I realized it wasn’t the one I thought I was marking. After a whispered conference, I was told to get another ballot.
Of course, I had to cause more confusion by asking if I could hold on to the original ballot so that I could just transfer over my votes without having to read all the questions again. They grudgingly agreed after I assured them that I understood they had to account for every single ballot and would be sure to return both of them. They were on to me now and I could feel their eyes watching me, the potential security risk.
I couldn’t help but notice that the three burly-ish ballot workers let out a sigh of relief as I returned my ballot to one place and returned to the dreaded ballot slot. The young worker cheerfully handed me my “I voted” sticker and waved good-bye.
Perhaps just a little bit too enthusiastically…