6:30 am-Things seem eerily calm today. I wake up to an overcast, cool morning and think I should get to the polls as early as possible, before the lines got too long. I had heard horror stories of five hour lines just this past weekend at the early voting locations, so I thought I would get up around 6:00 and be at the polls when they opened at seven. Of course this was overly ambitious, but I do manage to arrive by 8:05, with a bottle of water, a granola bar, a novel, and all the time in the world.8:05 am-I arrive at the church and am not too horrified. A quick count reveals that I am about 80th in line. About half of my fellow voters look like they are on their way to work (in slacks and/or high heels), an the other half looks more like me, students and homemakers, etc., dressed in jeans or sweats, or leggings. We are not a very diverse group, but neither is our neighborhood. I settle in with my book.
9:05 am-There are now only about 24 people in front of me, the home stretch. My back is a little sore, but my spirits are high. The overall line is much shorter now, so I guess I should have come a little later after all. On the other hand, waiting in line with fellow citizens is part of the voting experience right?
9:30 am-I enter through the doors of the church and cast my vote, laboring over filling in the bubbles completely (just like taking the ACT!). The scanner swallows my ballot, and out the door I go with my "I voted today!" sticker. I hear that Starbucks is giving free coffee to voter, maybe a caffeine kick is just what I need...
I spent about 105 minutes voting today, the least I can do to fulfill one of my civic duties. Everything went very smoothly, a pat on the back for the poll workers. And the weather was great (sorry to all of you up North who had to wait outside in the cold). How long did you have to wait? Answer my poll on the right hand side. Also, please comment on your voting experience!
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Our voting experience was VERY Iowa. We stood in line at the old folks' home for nearly 20 minutes. Most of the time, we were waiting for Eunice to realize that she was a poll volunteer in 2008, and not rallying for the Bull-Moose party. When Trevor FINALLY made it to the front of the line, he had the unpleasant job of calmly screaming to the poor old dear that Barrett came before Barnett, Browning, and Berkit. After she checked off his name (we think), he was tasked with searching for the ballots as she lectured him on the great character of Teddy Roosevelt. Luckily, the rookie poll volunteer, the spry, young 90-something gentleman, finished changing the tank on his oxygen machine and came to Trevor's rescue, handing him his blank ballot and his secrecy folder, glaring with his one good eye and motioning to a fleet of rickety, lopsided, official voting booths. Then it was my turn. Unfortunately, for both Eunice and me, "S" wasn't in her book. It only took her three once-throughs of her entire registered voters book, before she realized she only had the voters last name A-M, and that the pigeon I needed to speak with was Ethel, sitting right next to Eunice and jabbering away to her cup of coffee. I handed my voter sign-in form to Ethel, who promptly threw it on the floor in disgust, as I had interrupted the engaging lecture she was delivering to her French Roast. I really wasn't sure what to do then. I was in a state of deja vu and shock as this EXACT SCENARIO had happened to me, Ethel, and Eunice but three weeks ago at the Des Moines School Board Elections. Finally, Ethel turned her good ear in my direction, and I was able to shout out my last name for the entire precint to hear. Then it was a check mark for my name, a curt "thank you" to Ethel, and a nod to her coffee cup, before I was off to engage in the greatest of all the great civic duties.
ReplyDeleteAs I was voting, I had the distinct pleasure of tuning in to the next in the long line of Ethel-to-her-coffee-cup lectures about voters, as she proceeded to discuss, loudly and screech-ily, the progress, person, and disposition of one, Emily Stamper, a new registered voter to the south side. I didn't stay to hear the closing arguments or the footnotes, fascinating as I am sure they were. Instead, I slipped my ballot into the paper-shredder-converted voting machine and took off for the door. I am sure Ethel is still raving about me to Coffee Cup, as Eunice waits patiently for a wire to bring her news of Trevor's welfare as he fights for his country in the Great War. And thus ends another great, Iowa, semi-official, why-didn't-i-vote-absentee voting day. Thank you, Eunice. Thank you, Ethel. Thank you, Roosevelt. Thank you, Coffee Cup. See you in four years.