Voting

on a strange day

I’m writing this on October 28th, the day my husband and I voted early for the first time.

We didn’t have much of a reason to vote early other than we could, so why not? Normally we vote at a little church near our home, but early voting was held at our county courthouse. I was surprised how many people were in line with us; I didn’t realize many people voted early. But they do!

Everyone was in a good mood. The security guard told really bad Dad jokes while we waited.

What side of a chicken has more feathers? The outside!

There is something kind of empowering and unifying about standing in the voting line, even though I knew we were likely surrounded by opposing political views. It always makes me wish I knew more, had studied up on every single candidate better, and felt confident all my choices were going to be the right choices. But overall, knowing we all have the right to vote—even in a flawed system—is a good feeling. I won’t say it makes me proud to be an American, because I’ve never quite understood how one is proud of something that they’re simply born into. The word doesn’t work for me because it denotes accomplishment. I might say I’m grateful to be an American, rather than proud. If you’re from another country and you move here, then being proud makes more sense, because then it’s a choice and one you’ve likely worked very hard to achieve.

And speaking of that choice…

We stood unmoving in line for a long time. I just figured people took some time to read through the ballot, there were limited machines, whatever. All good. We had no big plans other than the gym. Finally an older woman comes out, then a man behind her and he jokes with us, “Don’t shoot me! It wasn’t my fault y’all were held up!” We all sort of laugh, but have no idea what he’s actually talking about. System malfunction? Who knows. We inch forward.

Another minute or two goes by and two dark-skinned men come out of the voting room. We inch forward. Things seem to be moving a bit quicker now. Then one of volunteers comes out. He’s wearing a camo West Virginia hat, and his volunteer badge. He has a nice voice and tells us in a calm tone, “Sorry about the wait, folks. You know when someone is voting for the first time, we have to make sure they know what they’re doing…”

It doesn’t quite click with me until he adds: “…and that they’re allowed to to be doing it.”

It clicks hard then. My husband and I look at each other and I just roll my eyes. “Profiling much,” I mumble under my breath. Our town is quite diverse and attracts immigrant families from South and Central America, as well as Ethiopia and many other countries I’m unaware of. They come here to work at the chicken processing plant, and often go to the college we used to teach at to learn English. I’ve witnessed a couple situations in town that have made me cringe and really, really wish I spoke at least Spanish to help people out, and now this guy, with his inflated sense of purpose and gentle voice. Ugh. But the two men are already gone, they got to vote, there’s nothing to say.

We inch forward. Right before it’s our turn, two young Mennonite women step up to the table and one of them tells the woman working the registration that this is her first time voting. She receives cheers from all the volunteers, and her escort to the machine—Camo Hat Man—couldn’t have been any prouder.

“We love first time voters!” he says.

When it’s my turn, I get the same escort. “Don’t put the paper in the machine until I get back,” he says. Which is fine because I’ve actually never used a machine like this so I do want him to show me how it works. He does, I do my thing, and he returns when I’m finished, and, in his reassuring voice, tells me about how secure the machine is, how no information is stored, and so nothing can be put up online. “It really is amazing technology. It can pick up a hair or a spot of ink and then you have to start over. The most secure system I’ve ever seen,” he says as my ballot choices remain facing up in his hand.

As we leave the courthouse, the early voting line winds down the hall. Many faces, some white, some not white, wait. And all I can think is that I hope Camo Hat Man goes on break soon so that everyone can make it home in time for dinner.