Judging an election is an endurance test. I arose at 4am to be at the polling place by 6am to hastily prepare for the onslaught of citizens clamoring for a ballot on November 5th. Grumpy residents moan and groan in an extended queue before the sun rises and the doors opened at 7am. The inundation is fierce and the judges do their best to keep up. Thus, begins the 13 hours of open polls and the hour or two of closing after 8pm. Minimum of fifteen hours of intensity, but I need the money.
“What do we want? Voters! When do we want them? Voters!” the chant grows louder by the hour. A throng of weary, bleary Election Judges have entered the final throws of the General Election. We just want the agony to end. After ten or eleven hours of repeating the same phrases, the voters lose their individuality. Some of our judges only served a half day, which made them more mentally alert.
The citizens tend to talk too fast and don’t like to repeat themselves to a partially-zombified judge. It takes a bit longer to locate their name in the Election Roster and they become petulant if you don’t find it instantly. Always, speak slowly and clearly to the judge, be patient and kind. Don’t use your own pen to sign the roster.
We rejoice when the Head Judge shouts out, “The Polls are Closed!” We wait for the final voters to complete their ballot and then rush around cleaning up the polling place. The Head Judge focuses on ensuring that the vote count data is printed in a hard copy, then the ballots and machine transported to the County Election Office. Shout for joy, the polls are bunged.
Did you vote this year?
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved