Mayoral Election Good Times
The following is the account of my attempt to vote in the Greenwood mayoral election June 2, 2009:
I went to the Legion Hut today to vote, where I've voted like eight times in the past two-and-a-half years that I've lived here, and the little old mean ladies tell me that I'm not on the roll. And they say, "Where do you live?" And I say, "Harris Street." And they say, "Well let me check." And they look at their separate list of streets and say, "Harris Street is in Ward 1. You need to vote at the fire station." And I say, "I've voted here in Ward 2 ever since I've lived here. I voted just three weeks ago in the Ward 2 City Council election."
And one woman says to me, "Well it's different in county and city. They trade places. You probably voted here last time in a county election."
And I just say, "OK" and nod and attempt to smile and walk off, 'cause that made sense.
Then I go to my car and call a friend and ask if I'm crazy today and make sure that I live in Ward 2, right? He says, "Yes, you live in Ward 2."
And so I go talk to Phil Wolfe who is outside and am very annoyed. I explain my situation to him while using less-than-couth language, because I am THAT annoyed. I'm not just annoyed at the cranky, old ladies who are giving me hell and acting like they're personally offended and inconvenienced over me trying to exercise my Constitutional right. I'm annoyed because WE DON'T HAVE VOTER ID. And I know that there are numerous other people in various precincts voting that very hour as various different dead people, and nobody is questioning them. I'm trying to simply vote one time as one legal, alive, tax-paying person at my own precinct, and they're telling me I don't where I live!
Phil says I can vote by affadavit ballot. So I do. I go back in there and ask the cranky little old ladies where can I get an affadavit ballot. And they direct me to another poll worker, who looks very disaffected and uninterested, at another table. And I fill out my ballot. (And all the time I know they're quietly going off on this young whipper-snapper of a voter who dares question their Voterly Omniscience and dares to think she knows where she lives – when THEY know better – and shooting me dagger-of-death looks the entire time.) I ignore them.
And then the Disaffected Affadavit Ballot Worker says, "Here, take this and read it when you go," and hands me a sheet of paper. No, "Thanks for voting," or, "Sorry you had trouble," or "Have a nice day." Just hands me a paper that has instructions about "Curbside Voting" for the elderly or people who can't make it into the polling station. It contains instructions for the poll workers on how they should write "Curbside" on the outside of the sealed, completed affadavit ballot.
I have no idea how this applies to me. Because it doesn't.
I in no way wish to deride the citizens who graciously volunteer their time to serve in our (be it unfair) Great Electoral Process. I appreciate their selfless efforts. But there are some issues here.
Last time I voted (in WARD 2), a woman almost bit my head off because I picked up the pen and went for the book to sign my name before she had gotten finished looking me up. "Wait! You can't sign before we look you up!" she snapped. I apologized. Ouch.
The situation is just so much more exasperating, because people are taking a process so seriously that is faulty to begin with. You have to show a driver's license to check out a movie at Blockbuster, but you can walk up to any voting precinct, rattle off a name and an address that exists on the rolls and get a plastic card and vote.
Why didn't I just come back in and say that I was Bobbie Sue on Smith Street and vote as her? Theoretically, an "Amy McCullough" could have come in and voted ahead of me that day, and nobody would be the wiser for it -- except, of course, she would have had to have voted in Ward 1 because her street no longer exists in Ward 2. Then, I guess, I wouldn't have been able to vote as me. Whatever.
Ridiculous.
I went to the Legion Hut today to vote, where I've voted like eight times in the past two-and-a-half years that I've lived here, and the little old mean ladies tell me that I'm not on the roll. And they say, "Where do you live?" And I say, "Harris Street." And they say, "Well let me check." And they look at their separate list of streets and say, "Harris Street is in Ward 1. You need to vote at the fire station." And I say, "I've voted here in Ward 2 ever since I've lived here. I voted just three weeks ago in the Ward 2 City Council election."
And one woman says to me, "Well it's different in county and city. They trade places. You probably voted here last time in a county election."
And I just say, "OK" and nod and attempt to smile and walk off, 'cause that made sense.
Then I go to my car and call a friend and ask if I'm crazy today and make sure that I live in Ward 2, right? He says, "Yes, you live in Ward 2."
And so I go talk to Phil Wolfe who is outside and am very annoyed. I explain my situation to him while using less-than-couth language, because I am THAT annoyed. I'm not just annoyed at the cranky, old ladies who are giving me hell and acting like they're personally offended and inconvenienced over me trying to exercise my Constitutional right. I'm annoyed because WE DON'T HAVE VOTER ID. And I know that there are numerous other people in various precincts voting that very hour as various different dead people, and nobody is questioning them. I'm trying to simply vote one time as one legal, alive, tax-paying person at my own precinct, and they're telling me I don't where I live!
Phil says I can vote by affadavit ballot. So I do. I go back in there and ask the cranky little old ladies where can I get an affadavit ballot. And they direct me to another poll worker, who looks very disaffected and uninterested, at another table. And I fill out my ballot. (And all the time I know they're quietly going off on this young whipper-snapper of a voter who dares question their Voterly Omniscience and dares to think she knows where she lives – when THEY know better – and shooting me dagger-of-death looks the entire time.) I ignore them.
And then the Disaffected Affadavit Ballot Worker says, "Here, take this and read it when you go," and hands me a sheet of paper. No, "Thanks for voting," or, "Sorry you had trouble," or "Have a nice day." Just hands me a paper that has instructions about "Curbside Voting" for the elderly or people who can't make it into the polling station. It contains instructions for the poll workers on how they should write "Curbside" on the outside of the sealed, completed affadavit ballot.
I have no idea how this applies to me. Because it doesn't.
I in no way wish to deride the citizens who graciously volunteer their time to serve in our (be it unfair) Great Electoral Process. I appreciate their selfless efforts. But there are some issues here.
Last time I voted (in WARD 2), a woman almost bit my head off because I picked up the pen and went for the book to sign my name before she had gotten finished looking me up. "Wait! You can't sign before we look you up!" she snapped. I apologized. Ouch.
The situation is just so much more exasperating, because people are taking a process so seriously that is faulty to begin with. You have to show a driver's license to check out a movie at Blockbuster, but you can walk up to any voting precinct, rattle off a name and an address that exists on the rolls and get a plastic card and vote.
Why didn't I just come back in and say that I was Bobbie Sue on Smith Street and vote as her? Theoretically, an "Amy McCullough" could have come in and voted ahead of me that day, and nobody would be the wiser for it -- except, of course, she would have had to have voted in Ward 1 because her street no longer exists in Ward 2. Then, I guess, I wouldn't have been able to vote as me. Whatever.
Ridiculous.
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