Updated: Nov 9
Do you know the real reason election workers give out those “I Voted” stickers? It’s not just to light up social media feed with selfies from everyone wanting to sport a sticker to show that they voted. In Georgia, only after a voter has turned in their paper ballot, and their card, and their stylus all together do they earn that ubiquitous sticker. It’s less about giving out the stickers than ensuring that the cards get returned.
I learned that from my husband, a civics and social studies geek. Much of our calendar this past month has evolved around his twelve-hour shifts as an early election poll worker. I’ve heard more than I care to about precinct set-up and take-down and how all the separate stations work. The man loves the democratic process. And what can I say? He also enjoys sharing stories.
Like this one. Early one morning, a woman came in to vote and found a marked paper ballot left on the printer tray in her station. “How could this happen?” she asked, dismayed when she learned the ballot had to be voided. Rice suggested it must have occurred when the precinct got extra busy. People forget to turn in their stylus or card, and sometimes even their ballet. Staff can usually stay on top of that…except during heavy traffic times…or if they’re helping disabled or elderly voters.
Speaking of that demographic…did you know that voters seventy-five or older can ask to be moved to the front of the line? Same for disabled voters. Some appreciate the special consideration, like the 103-year-old gentleman who came in with his son, who helped him to vote. Others are fine without it, like the young man with cerebral palsy who declined Rice's assistance during or after voting. “No, thanks,” he said. “I’m just waiting for my Uber.” Apparently, he’d ordered a ride to get in to vote, and that was his plan for getting home.
To Rice, these stories reflect how seriously people took this election. To me, they reflect how much he appreciates the process but also how much he cares about people and making election time fair and comfortable for all. For instance, he told me he excused himself from checking in voters when a woman showed up in his line wearing a burka or niqab. “Why?” I asked him. “Because,” he said, “she had to remove her veil so we could match her ID to her face, and I believed she’d prefer to do that in the presence of other women and not me.”
Oh, yeah, that's Rice. He enjoyed doing his civic duty, even attending required trainings prior to showing up at the polls. Early voter turnout was great. For the most part, people were patient and pleasant. Only one person threatened to lodge a complaint of voter suppression. According to Rice, “It was chilly. He grew angry when I asked folks in line outside the building to move back into the shade to make room for patrons wanting to access the library.”
Personally, I might have snapped at that man had I signed up to work the polls myself. Definitely, I would have gone crazy, having to repeat the same directions repeatedly.
Of course, it’s over now. As the winners celebrate, the losers lick their wounds. Personally, I feel a bittersweet twinge of pride, watching American democracy in action once more. One side lost an election and vows to honor the succession of power. I needed to see that again. I needed to witness respect for this system that allows us to fight for the fundamental rights and freedoms we hold dear.
As we march on, I'd like to say a heartfelt thank you to all who voted. To those who worked to make the process go smoothly, double thanks... and two more fond memories from this year’s Georgia election.
Rice’s favorite:
A pregnant woman came in to vote. She was in active labor, but she insisted, “I have to vote!” We moved her through the line as fast as we could. She was having killer contractions, all hunched over and groaning with pain. But she voted. And I trust she made it to where she planned to deliver. I mean, I never heard any off-the-wall delivery stories on the news that night.
My favorite:
Rice left the library after a twelve-hour shift and stopped to pick up a few things at Publix. As he was leaving for home, he backed his truck into a woman’s SUV.
Frazzled about what to do, the woman told Rice she’d like to call her husband. He agreed. When the husband showed up, he said he really couldn’t see any damage, but he collected Rice’s insurance and contact information and said he’d like to re-check the car in the light of his garage back at home.
All the while, the woman kept staring at Rice. “I swear I know you,” she said.
Suddenly, he realized, she did. Sort of.
“Well,” he said, “I’m the guy who made your evening by backing into you.” Then he gave her a sheepish grin. “But I’m also the poll worker who wouldn’t let you take a picture of your daughter today as she voted for the first time.”
“Right.” The woman remembered now, too. “Cell phones aren’t allowed in the booth.”
When the Riceman got home and filled me in, all I could think of was, oh yay.
His phone pinged almost immediately, and he mouthed the words, it’s them. Then he silently read his message.
“What?” I said once he stopped reading, hoping the news wouldn’t be bad.
“The wife said not to worry. Everything looks A-okay. Then she thanked me for my service and told me to enjoy a nice evening with my wife.”
And you know what? He did.
Do you know the real reason election workers give out those “I Voted” stickers? It’s not just to light up social media feed with selfies from everyone wanting to sport a sticker to show that they voted. In Georgia, only after a voter has turned in their paper ballot, and their card, and their stylus all together do they earn that ubiquitous sticker. It’s less about giving out the stickers than ensuring that the cards get returned.
I learned that from my husband, a civics and social studies geek. Much of our calendar this past month has evolved around his twelve-hour shifts as an early election poll worker. I’ve heard more than I care to about precinct set-up and take-down and how all the separate stations work. The man loves the democratic process. And what can I say? He also enjoys sharing stories.
Like this one. Early one morning, a woman came in to vote and found a marked paper ballot left on the printer tray in her station. “How could this happen?” she asked, dismayed when she learned the ballot had to be voided. Rice suggested it must have occurred when the precinct got extra busy. People forget to turn in their stylus or card, and sometimes even their ballet. Staff can usually stay on top of that…except during heavy traffic times…or if they’re helping disabled or elderly voters.
Speaking of that demographic…did you know that voters seventy-five or older can ask to be moved to the front of the line? Same for disabled voters. Some appreciate the special consideration, like the 103-year-old gentleman who came in with his son, who helped him to vote. Others are fine without it, like the young man with cerebral palsy who declined Rice's assistance during or after voting. “No, thanks,” he said. “I’m just waiting for my Uber.” Apparently, he’d ordered a ride to get in to vote, and that was his plan for getting home.
To Rice, these stories reflect how seriously people took this election. To me, they reflect how much he appreciates the process but also how much he cares about people and making election time fair and comfortable for all. For instance, he told me he excused himself from checking in voters when a woman showed up in his line wearing a burka or niqab. “Why?” I asked him. “Because,” he said, “she had to remove her veil so we could match her ID to her face, and I believed she’d prefer to do that in the presence of other women and not me.”
Oh, yeah, that's Rice. He enjoyed doing his civic duty, even attending required trainings prior to showing up at the polls. Early voter turnout was great. For the most part, people were patient and pleasant. Only one person threatened to lodge a complaint of voter suppression. According to Rice, “It was chilly. He grew angry when I asked folks in line outside the building to move back into the shade to make room for patrons wanting to access the library.”
Personally, I might have snapped at that man had I signed up to work the polls myself. Definitely, I would have gone crazy, having to repeat the same directions repeatedly.
Of course, it’s over now. As the winners celebrate, the losers lick their wounds. Personally, I feel a bittersweet twinge of pride, watching American democracy in action once more. One side lost an election and vows to honor the succession of power. I needed to see that again. I needed to witness respect for this system that allows us to fight for the fundamental rights and freedoms we hold dear.
As we march on, I'd like to say a heartfelt thank you to all who voted. To those who worked to make the process go smoothly, double thanks... and two more fond memories from this year’s Georgia election.
Rice’s favorite:
A pregnant woman came in to vote. She was in active labor, but she insisted, “I have to vote!” We moved her through the line as fast as we could. She was having killer contractions, all hunched over and groaning with pain. But she voted. And I trust she made it to where she planned to deliver. I mean, I never heard any off-the-wall delivery stories on the news that night.
My favorite:
Rice left the library after a twelve-hour shift and stopped to pick up a few things at Publix. As he was leaving for home, he backed his truck into a woman’s SUV.
Frazzled about what to do, the woman told Rice she’d like to call her husband. He agreed. When the husband showed up, he said he really couldn’t see any damage, but he collected Rice’s insurance and contact information and said he’d like to re-check the car in the light of his garage back at home.
All the while, the woman kept staring at Rice. “I swear I know you,” she said.
Suddenly, he realized, she did. Sort of.
“Well,” he said, “I’m the guy who made your evening by backing into you.” Then he gave her a sheepish grin. “But I’m also the poll worker who wouldn’t let you take a picture of your daughter today as she voted for the first time.”
“Right.” The woman remembered now, too. “Cell phones aren’t allowed in the booth.”
When the Riceman got home and filled me in, all I could think of was, oh yay.
His phone pinged almost immediately, and he mouthed the words, it’s them. Then he silently read his message.
“What?” I said once he stopped reading, hoping the news wouldn’t be bad.
“The wife said not to worry. Everything looks A-okay. Then she thanked me for my service and told me to enjoy a nice evening with my wife.”
And you know what? He did.
