Civic Duty

Today is election day in America. If you are eligible to vote and didn’t, please don’t whine or try to engage me in any form of political debate later. As far as I’m concerned, if you don’t express your opinion at the polls on election day, you aren’t entitled to an opinion on political matters after election day.

Yes, voting can be inconvenient. If you work, you might need to squeeze it in before or after or during your workday. Yes, it might be crowded at your voting location (it was when I went), but that’s a good thing! It means your neighbors are participating in the process that people in America and other countries have fought for (and in some cases, died for). Standing in line is trivial. Chat with the people around you and meet your neighbors.

Mom and I went to vote this morning around 8:45. The parking lot at our Ward 1 voting location, the Knights of Columbus Hall, was crowded. The atmosphere was cheerful.

I had a minor hiccup at check in -- I wasn’t listed at the address for my Mom’s house, where I’ve lived at for nearly two years. Even though I registered to vote when I transferred my driver’s license and registered my car in March 2013, and even though I voted one year ago in the city election, and even though I hand-delivered a city census form for our address to the City Clerk’s office, I wasn’t on the check-in list. I was listed as “inactive.” Umm, how much more active could I have been?

I guess that explains why Mom and Butch received candidate mailings and I didn’t. But in the grand scheme of things, it is still trivial. Minor. I had to go to another table and fill out a form and show my license, then return to the check-in line with the yellow and pink copies of a form. It took five extra minutes. Barely an eye blink to express my position on the next few years.

Meanwhile, Mom had finished voting, visited the check-out table and was standing in the line to place her ballot forms in a big machine. Unfortunately, the machine kept rejecting the forms of a voter ahead of her, which held up the line. One lady was nervously checking her watch, and announced she needed to get to work.

I got my forms and visited the booth to color in my little ovals. Luckily, there was an empty booth. These are not private little stations, they accommodate two people, each facing a corner of the space. But they look mighty cozy for two people, and I was hoping nobody came to the tiny counter in the other side of ‘my’ booth, triggering claustrophobia.

I felt prepared to vote, having read the Massachusetts Information for Voters booklet that arrived at our house several weeks ago. Unfortunately, my preparations still left me unprepared. The booklet contained four questions on the ballot, but it turned out there were actually six. There were offices listed on the ballot I hadn’t heard of, so I was still flying blind in a couple areas.
As I was filling in the ovals on my ballot by hand with the provided black Flair pen, the voter on the other side of the flimsy booth wall was shaking the booth like a damned earthquake, making it challenging to stay in the lines, and making me worry the machine wouldn’t read my ballot if the circles were all crazy. Yes, voting can be exciting, but calm the heck down and stop shaking the entire booth!

When I finished dealing with the shaking booth and coloring ovals and puzzling over positions I didn’t know were up for grabs with candidates I never heard of, I stood in the line to feed my forms into the machine, until someone pointed out I needed to go to the checkout table first. I hadn’t been on the check-in list, but fortunately I WAS on the check-out list. Umm,  OK.

But it’s done. Now I wait for the coverage tonight to see the results. And you know what? Compared to the countries where people have no say in their government, my tiny issues mean nothing. I didn’t have to fight for the right to vote, others before me already paved the way for me. The least I can do is show up and be part of the process. The same goes for you.

Election Day

It’s finally here. Election Day! I’ve been waiting for this day for weeks. It feels bigger than my birthday, Halloween, or any of the six holidays recognized with a paid day off at my job. (I know ... six!) I have been on tenterhooks waiting for this day. No, I am not running for office. No, I am not campaigning for anyone who is running for office. I am just ready for the campaigns to stop. Seriously.

Over the past few weeks, one mayoral candidate’s recorded message system has called me more often than all the members of my family and friends combined. Or maybe it just feels like that because after the first time hearing from a candidate I find the calls annoying. The same candidate also sent me several full-color postcards featuring him smiling, always in a polo shirt. I appreciate the love and attention. Really, I do. But I have tired of looking at your face, oh candidate for mayor. The same face that stares at me from a vinyl poster at every major intersection in town. It’s beginning to feel a little like stalking. But you do win points for visibility.

Another mayoral candidate evidently decided to save money on mailings and sent her three poster-sized mailers addressed jointly to me and my former housemate. Really? I am an individual voter. I know mailers are expensive, I work in marketing. But the jointly addressed mail – with his name listed first, thanks to the magic of alphabetization – made me feel trivialized. Idea: make the photos of your fabulous self a little smaller, maybe use 2 instead of 20, reduce the size of the mailing piece, and send one to each voter individually.

As for the other five contenders for mayor … they have spared me mailings and calls. One dude has a zeppelin shaped balloon floating over College Street and is going to fight for me. The sign on his truck says so. Too bad about the mailings though, as I saved all campaign mail received in a semi-neat pile, and read it immediately before heading to the polls. Promises. Lies. Finger pointing. As juicy as a soap opera script.

On the state side of things, the Republicans campaigned hard for someone from the other camp to NOT be elected. I received three postcards from the incumbent’s campaign, touting his “four-year record of service” … and four much larger mailers of the negative variety illustrating previous “unpaid cell phone bills (wow. $600 worth!?!), wasteful government spending, and higher taxes on small businesses.” Hmmm….I work for one of those small businesses, and I think the partners are plenty taxed already. More taxes for them means no raises for us little folks and/or vacated positions not filled so the rest of us get to work more for the same paycheck.

While the campaign season was aggravating, the act of voting was an almost painless event. My ward’s voting place was well marked from the street -- big “Vote Here” signs at the entry to the parking lot. Unfortunately, they neglected to mark the building entrances. People were wandering around the building, trying various doors. The logical choice -- the front door -- had a note reading “Please use side door.” Sure. It’s a four sided building, where do I begin? The correct side door featured a weathered piece of paper with a note in faded orange highlighter telling “Teachers” to do something.  A nice “Vote Here” sign on the entry door would have spared a lot of perimeter wandering.

Once inside, I completed my “voter application” and was directed to “the D section” at another table. And there I stood, signature ID and application in hand. And stood. And stood some more, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The volunteer tending the “D-G” section was very, very busy. She was busy chatting with the volunteer lady next to her. I cleared my throat a little -- I was trying hard to be nice and remember that these are volunteers working. And I use the term ‘working’ loosely. They are also seemingly people with plenty of time on their hands and no place else to be. I, however, was supposed to be at work. I was a bit curious as to how long this might go on, but finally, a lady two chairs down the table caught my lady’s eye (the good one, without the cataract) and said “Um, Mary, that lady is ready.” Thank you helpful lady tending another section of the alphabet. And Mary proceeded to try to find my name in her listing that seemed to be printed in a rather small size, even for younger, unclouded eyes. A check mark, a signature, and I was directed to “the lady in the purple shirt” for my civic act of voting.

A quick run-through of the operation of the machine. No booth. No curtain. No separation from the rest of the room. Disappointing. There went my plan to photograph the ballot with my cell phone. Just for kicks, you know. I reviewed the surprisingly lengthy list of names running for Governor. I had heard of a couple, but the rest? No idea. There were 16 names on there. I swear I am not making this up. A Republican, a Democrat, plus 14 Independent Candidates. There were seven people running for mayor. Evidently, appearing on an election ballot must have been on a few people’s bucket list.

On my way out, I saw several people wandering around the building, zombie -like (how trendy!). I directed the ones nearest me to the proper entry door. And off I went, surprisingly arriving at work not much later than usual.

After today, the mailbox will feel emptier. My cell phone will vibrate less. I will have fewer voice mail messages. And instead of tuning out the political ads on TV, I can transfer that energy to trying to ignore the Christmas shopping ads. All part of the cycle of life.