By Polly Pollworker
This past Tuesday, I served as an equipment manager election judge, in charge of setting-up and trouble-shooting the touchscreen voting machines and the optical scanner (for recording paper ballots) during the election. At the end of the day, it was my responsibility to transmit the votes, dismantle the machines, pack everything up and transport the important materials, including the voting machine memory packs, to the central receiving station.
This was my first time working the vote. Hours of hands-on training had gone into preparing myself and my fellow equipment managers to handle the technology of democracy. I’d read the materials multiple times, highlighted, tabbed and flagged my notebook and attended a practice session, where I’d changed the printer paper so many times I could practically do it blind-folded. I was nervous and excited to participate in an election from the other side of the curtain.
What follows is my riveting account of working the April 17th Cook County Consolidated Election.
5:00 a.m.: I arrive at the polling place on time. One of the other judges for my precinct is there, circling the Big Blue Box that houses everything for our polling station, wondering how to get into it. I have the key. Polling stations for two other precincts share the space with us, so we’ve got ten elections judges in all. Everyone other than myself and another equipment manager have worked the polls before, so we’ve got a lot of experience in the room.
5:10 a.m.: I have the first scare of the day when the lock to the Big Blue Box is stuck and will not budge. Panic thought: Ten minutes in and I’ll already have to call for assistance. Tugging, swearing (in my head) and banging on the metal, the lock finally gives.
5:40 a.m.: Everything is set up, plugged in, turned on, and secured. We’re ready to go!
6:00 a.m.: One of the election judges steps outside and following protocol announces, “The polls are now open!” Unfortunately, there’s not a single voter within shouting distance to hear him.
6:23 a.m.: We log our first vote of the day. (Yeahhh!) It’s one of our own judges. (Ohhhh.)
7:00 a.m.: Lots of chit chat among the judges.
7:10 a.m.: I crack open my first magazine of the day.
7:25 a.m.: Two people from the State’s Attorney’s Office show up to ask a few routine questions and take a tally of the number of votes so far. We three judges hold up an index finger – uno.
7:30 a.m.: Another pair from the State’s Attorney’s office appears, asking the exact same questions. Not much change in the last five minutes!
8:10 a.m.: I realize an oldster judge from one of the other precincts hasn’t stopped talking since the polls opened. “Hey, pipe down you! I’m trying to read here!”
8:27 a.m.: Judges entertain one another by pretending to want to vote. Election Day improv helps pass the time.
8:35 a.m.: I finish my first magazine.
8:55 a.m.: Is it lunchtime yet? D’oh! Only nine o’clock?!?!?
9:00 a.m.: The Old Man of the Mountain election judge continues his history lesson of how much this area has changed over the years. A rambling monologue of when each building was built, where it’s located, what it used to be, what’s there now. On and on it goes. And they said this was going to be a long day . . .
9:15 a.m.: Three people scouting the area for an ideal restaurant location appear. They wonder why the parking lot is so full. Is it because of the election? Look around – what do you think?
9:44 a.m.: Thankfully we’re facing a row of big windows, giving us plenty of natural light and something to look at. Who knew watching traffic could be so entertaining.
9:52 a.m.: Our second voter! (Yayyyyy!) Another election judge from across the room. (Awwww, sheez.)
9:55 a.m.: Another voter! We’re on a roll now.
9:57 a.m.: A fellow judge amuses himself by repeatedly stamping his hand with the precinct stamp.
10:05 a.m.: A mad rush – two people voting at once! Can the system handle it?
10:07 a.m.: The building maintenance man seems as bored as we are. He’s passed by five times since nine o’clock, rolling his cart back and forth, back and forth.
10:15 a.m.: Is it lunchtime yet?
10:27 a.m.: We watch a landscaping crew plant shrubs in front of the building. An accelerated version of watching the grass grow.
11:15 a.m.: Getting a lot of reading done.
11:20 a.m.: No, really, is it lunchtime yet?
11:24 a.m.: Two cop cars go screaming down the street, followed by a fire truck. Everyone in the room perks up.
11:35 a.m.: We have a real brain trust in the room today. Seven poll workers cannot solve the Tribune crossword puzzle.
11:50 a.m.: The big debate continues: Will lunch be provided for us?
Noon: Just seven hours to go!
12:02 p.m.: I take a phone call from one of my neighbors to discuss how our townhome association might appeal the pending (and outrageous) increase in our property taxes. Even a call about taxes is a welcome diversion at this point.
12:30 p.m.: I’m suddenly starving. I guess that bowl of cereal I ate at 4 a.m. isn’t going to hold me all day.
12:45 p.m.: Lunchtime! I run out to grab a bite to eat. Will I return? Yes.
1:25 p.m.: An elderly gentleman marches with purpose up to his polling place and one of the judges greets him with, “We’ve been waiting for you all day!” He replies, “Somebody has to vote them out of office!”
1:30 p.m.: The strains of Happy Birthday come from an office on the second floor. About an hour ago, ten pairs of eyes followed a woman as she entered with a bakery box and climbed the stairs. Ten poll workers badly in need of a sugar fix silently consider storming the birthday party.
1:40 p.m.: I contemplate jamming the paper in one of the machines just so I’ll have something to do. Might as well put that training to use.
2:11 p.m.: I kill another Vanity Fair magazine.
2:15 p.m.: One of my fellow judges, a high school senior, has slumped over in his chair and lapsed into unconsciousness.
2:20 p.m.: Seeing my sleeping co-worker, the designated mother in the group drags a bench off to a secluded corner of the room and convinces the teen to catch a quick nap. Fellow judges form a queue for nap time.
2:30 p.m.: My thermos rocks! Ten hours after filling it, the coffee is still hot. Recaffeination commences.
2:46 p.m.: I accidentally trip over a power cord, disconnecting the touchscreen card activation machine. Thank God for battery back-up. I spend the next five minutes violently re-taping the power cord to the carpet.
2:50 p.m.: A moment of excitement as one of the other equipment managers is called away to cover another location. In a day that could have been one crisis after another, this is as bad (or as good) as it gets.
3:00 p.m.: No poll watchers or press have stopped by and there’s no sign of any precinct captains about. Some of my fellow poll workers are feeling neglected.
3:36 p.m.: No one speaks. It’s the first moment of silence all day.
3:37 p.m.: And . . . the moment of blissful quiet is over.
3:46 p.m.: A rep from the manufacturer of the voting system stops by to verify that the machines are working properly. Yes, we tell him, each of the six times the touchscreen was used it worked just fine and was the highlight of our day.
4:00 p.m.: Over four hours since our last voter.
4:01 p.m.: Three more hours to go! Three . . . very . . . long . . . hours. 180 minutes. 10,800 seconds.
4:40 p.m.: Oh, sorry, did I nod off?
5:06 p.m.: One of the election judges keeps referring to the equipment managers as EMTs. Exactly what sort of training does he think we received?
5:40 p.m.: An hour and a half before closing the polls, I’ve organized the materials we’ll need to wrap things up. We’re ready to go.
5:45 p.m.: Chit chat chit chat.
6:00 p.m.: The one-hour countdown begins.
6:12 p.m.: Pizza! Courtesy of an election judge.
6:15 p.m.: How many election judges does it take to find form 301A? Six.
6:16 p.m.: Everyone is a clockwatcher now. 44 minutes to go.
6:24 p.m.: 36 minutes.
6:27 p.m.: Three minutes until one of us can make the announcement, “The polls will close in 30 minutes.”
6:28 p.m.: Two minutes until one of us can make the announcement, “The polls will close in 30 minutes.”
6:39 p.m.: One minute until one of us can make the announcement, “The polls will close in 30 minutes.”
6:30 p.m.: “The polls will close in 30 minutes!”
6:37 p.m.: 23 minutes until we shut this baby down.
6:50 p.m.: The final countdown.
6:57 p.m.: Can you feel the excitement?!
7:00 p.m.: Polls close! Polls close!
7-8:00 p.m.: A whirlwind of activity as we run the final reports, shut down the machines, break down the polling stations, and pack everything back into the Big Blue Box. The votes are transmitted and all the “important stuff” is placed in the appropriate bag or envelope to be taken to the receiving station.
8:01 p.m.: I wander over to one of the precincts to see if they need any help since their EM has left them to finish up on their own. The lead guy is trying to keep it together and move things along but it seems he may be getting too much help from one of his fellow judges and I hear a lot of “No, no, just leave that there.” “No, don’t touch it. It stays right there.” “No, he said leave it alone.” “No, no, no, DON’T TOUCH IT!” I smile and slowly back away.
8:11 p.m.: We’re off to the receiving station, a short drive away, where we’ll drop off the envelope of results tapes and memory sticks and the wheeled blue duffel bag of ballots (or in our case, single ballot) along with forms inside of envelopes inside of other envelopes. Who knew there were so many envelopes involved in balloting?
8:25 p.m.: The drop has been made. Mission accomplished. Our work here is done.
9:00 p.m.: Beer.
*
Polly Pollworker asked that her real name not be used because “I don’t want to jeopardize my ability to work future elections. I can really use the money.”
Posted on April 20, 2007