What was I waiting for?
It was 1 AM and I was wide awake. After months of nervous anticipation, Election Day had finally arrived, and I should have been asleep. I had four more hours before I needed to arrive and I just lay there, staring at my ceiling, thinking about everything that could go wrong. We could have four more years of this madness, partisan violence could break out, or, God help us all, I might be expected to troubleshoot the scanner.
The Board of Elections training I attended was thorough, so thorough that they taught you everything you might need to know to be a poll worker. The problem is that you don’t need to know everything in one session, and I, having never been a poll worker, would most likely never be assigned to work the scanner. But they don’t tell you that.
Luckily, when I arrived at my Brooklyn polling location, to an empty room, with a small army of dedicated young women who are the face of the new poll worker generation, we all just went to work, setting up the privacy booths and putting up signs. I ended up being a line manager with a dear friend who I just happened to run into. An added bonus I could not possibly have predicted.
By 6:00 AM, when the polls opened, there was a small line on Baltic Street, but the reality is that that’s as far as it ever got. Throughout the day there was a steady stream of voters but there was never a line, and never a crowd. That was reserved for the days of early voting when I, like my fellow Brooklynites, stood for three hours at the Barclays Center. It was okay, though; there was a marching band and small dancing children and once we got into the lobby, voting took about 15 minutes.
What there was on both occasions: civility, respect, and kindness. Poll workers on Election Day held doors, directed voters to elevators, and ultimately made sure the process was as seamless as possible. My various jobs while on line included scooter baby-sitter, dog walker and granny-cart watcher, as well as puppy carrier. Needless to say, this was my favorite one.
As the day slowly proceeded, volunteers from various non-profits delivered yummy food, including chicken, rice and beans, and pizza. Who knew I wouldn’t need the PB&Js I packed with my thermos of coffee? My fellow poll workers and I had lots of animated conversations about everything from jobs to civic engagement. Most of all, we watched the dedication of voters come, one after another, simply doing their job as citizens.
Problems? The only one I saw was some I Voted stickers at the end of the day that ended up stuck to the school lobby floor. Ah, that’s the tool I should have brought. Where was my handy-dandy paint scraper when I needed it? But by the time I went downstairs and returned to the lobby to figure out how I could remove them, they were magically gone, rapidly removed by a hard-working custodian who was probably eager to get home (and who had probably seen his share of I Voted stickers stuck to the floor from elections past).
The last hour, with very little activity, was tough. Still, I patiently waited for 9 PM, when we started the strike – to use an entertainment-industry term -- of the operation. By 10 PM I was walking home, exhausted but exhilarated.
What was I waiting for?
To get involved. I should have done this decades ago.
Oh, and one added bonus: at 8 PM, when I couldn’t keep my eyes open, I ducked out for a minute to get a coffee at the corner bodega.
The woman shook her head when I took out my dollar.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re working,” she responded.