Election Judging

The primary elections were yesterday, and with it the increasingly familiar 16-hour work day that is election judging.

This was my third time manning the tables for my home precinct Normal 04, over at New Beginnings Church (which has changed in name just about every time I've been there and, incidentally, is the church where Dena and I were married).

The day usually kicks off with a 4 a.m. wake-up. Hidden Bloggers are shocked that I would do anything which includes this requirement, as my idea of sleeping in is 11:00 a.m. and of early rising is 7:00. But the sense of serving country (not for free, mind you, but $145 - a bit under ten bucks an hour) and the variety from the normal work week are enough to raise me with groggy enthusiasm.

I'm starting to understand why people do this for decades, especially in a fairly sleepy precinct like ours. The small fellowship hall houses two precincts' polling places, including Normal 05. Out of 784 listed eligible voters from our precinct, 206 made the trip to see us. That overall pace of one voter every five minutes plays out in reality as stretches of librarian quiet and three or four bursts of grocery store bustle around breakfast, lunch and dinner. It allows plenty of time to do some private reading/paperwork, to bond with fellow judges, and possibly even to take a step out of the room for a midday power nap.

The first hour is a dash of foggy-brained efficiency, clearing our eyes when the doors open at 5 a.m. to squint at the twenty-step checklist and prepare all stations for the polls to open. Of the five judges, one verifies the voter's name against a list, two more obtain voter signature and record their presence (including, for primaries, which party's ballot they'd like to complete). A fourth provides and explains the ballot and voting process.

The fifth judge's spot is usually the easiest - check to make sure the ballot is real and not snuck in somehow, and then assist (i.e. watch) the voter slide it into the automatic counting machine. But a new law this year was determined to prevent people from accidentally failing to vote for all the positions being contested. As a result, the voting machine initially rejects any ballot unless all races have been voted for. This had the desired effect of saving about 1% of voters from the outrage of not having their carelessness double-checked. Another 75% of voters actively chose to skip a race because there's only one candidate, or because neither candidate for Assistant to the 83rd District Council Chairman's Manicurist decided to do any campaigning. These folks gained a tiny and momentary psychological feeling of abject failure as the ballot disappeared smoothly into the slot and then spit out like tobasco from a toddler. In the next instant the election judge assured in a soothing voice (or for the hundredth voter, a blister-tongued rasp) that everything was fine as long as the skips were intentional. Unbeknownst to the voter, the judge also enjoyed a shuffle-sized electric mini-shock while re-inserting it. This might explain the absence of the nap.

This was Dena's first time as a judge, and she was assigned to work a different precinct. We both volunteered (as two judges must, from each precinct, one Democrat and one Republican) to drive the ballots to headquarters. The atmosphere in the waiting area, after depositing our materials and waiting for the collection team to inventory everything, had the festivity of a post-game tailgate. Slap-happy election judges from all across the county and age spectrum babbled like kindergartners munching on snacks during the last day of school. That unwinding time gave Dena and I time to trade stories of the fun day. At last the cheery and, by nature of her job, intensely popular woman stepped up front and announced which precincts were free to leave for the day. And two American patriots sped home for an early 10:00 bedtime!