I was a poll worker for the primary election on March 3, 2020.  I wanted to be a part of the process, meet new people, and to do my civic duty.  Even then, I sensed trouble coming. While it was elusive, I followed my intuition both during training and on the actual day of voting.

It was my main job to accept the ballots in the secrecy sleeves, to slide them into the ballot box, to take the pen that had been provided. I also accepted mail-in ballots that were dropped off, checking each for the signature that matched the name on the ballot along with the date written on the back of the sealed mail-in ballot.

I gave each voter I VOTED sticker and thanked them for voting. I took it upon myself to bring several bottles of hand sanitizer and tissues. My intuition urged me to wipe down the secrecy covers and pens before returning them to the first table to be reused.

It became too busy for me to keep doing it, so I urged the other poll workers to use the hand-sanitizer to clean the secrecy folders and pens after each use and before another voter used them. I had not worked for years as I am permanently disabled. I thought this would be easy.  It was not.

We began at 5:45 a.m. by opening large cartons and assembling cardboard voting booths, tacking signs to the walls regarding voter privacy, voter harassment, setting up long metal tables, placing the folding chairs for each of the stations. I drove around adding more large yellow signs directing voters to our location.

Working at the completed voter ballot table. Hanging banners, the flag, or cardboard directions in front of our polling place. Thirteen hours later at 8:00 pm, we closed the polls.

First, I had to count the ballots in the regular ballot box, then count the provisional ballots in another ballot box, and count the mail-in ballots.  Then I counted again with another poll-worker to verify the correct counts.

Next, I packed them up in special containers as directed by detailed instructions. Then I drove around to pick up the bright yellow direction signs, pulling off the metal legs so they would fit into my SUV, struggling in the dark, using my headlights to guide me over fences, through wooden fences and around buildings and the parking lot.  When I returned to our polling place, I removed all the signs and metal holders and packed those in their boxes to return to headquarters.

I was beyond exhausted, my lower back felt like there was a ten-inch spike shoved up from the base of my spine. Often, getting in and out of my SUV, my leg, foot, or calf, even my hip replacement, would cramp causing me to gasp in pain, jump out of the driver’s seat and try to walk off the cramp.

As other poll workers continued counting the unused ballots, packing up the security folders, pens, and other booklets, two of each of us would take apart the cardboard voting booths and return each to their original carton.

We each carried or carted all the plastic bins, the cartons, all the supplies down a long ramp and placed all the ballots in one of the supervisor’s car, the remainder in another assistant supervisor’s car. We swept the room after taking down the metal folding tables, closing the metal folding chairs and then swept the floor clean.

We walked out together, the few of us left because others had left earlier, and locked the doors. I waved goodnight as I struggled to get behind the steering wheel of my SUV. I laid my head back against the headrest and wondered if I could actually drive home.

Two of the supervisors came over to my car door, they were concerned and asked if I was all right to drive. I told them I was just taking a breath before driving home. They drove away, honking and waving out their windows. I started my car and was shocked to realize that this had been a 15-hour day and I still had to drive home.

I was the lucky one because the supervisors had to take all the ballots, supplies, boxes and cartons to a local church about five miles away for central gathering and more accounting for it all to be loaded into different trucks – one for ballots to be taken to the Registrar of Voters in San Diego – the other for supplies to be taken to the warehouse until the next election.

I staggered into my home, dragging my ice chest, supplies, and my purse, dropping them onto the floor at the entrance.  I practically crawled to my recliner after grabbing a Coca-Cola from the refrigerator and collapsed onto it in relief.  I pushed up the footrest and simply stared into space at the incredible effort and what was accomplished in one long day.

My entire body ached – I felt as though I had been run over by a large truck. I swallowed two pain pills, downed the Coca-Cola, and staggered into my bedroom to flop on the bed without even undressing.

The next morning and for several days, in major pain, lying in my recliner moaning, rarely moving, watching television and the results of the primary election. I felt honored.

Recently, on November 3, 2020 we had our Presidential election nationwide. There was major concern that mail-in ballots would not arrive before or on the day of the election. Voters by mail were urged to take their ballot to an official drop box, or local drop off point (mine was the library) to be certain it would be counted.

I was riveted to the television waiting for the results for President/Vice President, key senator, and legislature races.  It was a long, tense anxious wait – days of waiting with cameras inside the major city Registrar of Voters in the states. Exhausted, deflated, I prayed for my choice for each of those running in this election.  On Friday, November 6^th, I could not take it anymore.  My mantra was, “Let Go, Let God!”

Friday, I slept for 20 hours, all the tension, the irritability, the frustration at the slow pace of counting over 140 million ballots – simply left my body. I awoke Saturday morning to projected winner results.  My body felt soft, I was happy, relieved, and celebrated dancing, singing with joy.

Democracy works! I have no doubt there was no voter fraud. I participated in the hard work it takes to be conscientious and follow strict rules, to accomplish the will of the people.

So, who counts your votes? Your neighbor, grandmother, coach, aunt, teacher, retail clerk, grocery store checker, all those anonymous faces working day after day, many times two shifts.  Conscientious, law-abiding people of every walk of life that is not connected to the government who want democracy to succeed – to hear your voice through a ballot! If you get the chance, and you know one of the unselfish ones, thank them – thank them for me and every person who cast a ballot.

Namaste`
Jussta

I has been five years since I have written an article for Bellesprit Magazine. For many reasons, most of them my health challenges, others moving residence – shrinking my world in evermore drastic ways. Time has not been my friend – and thinking of friends, I no longer have physical friends to comfort me – only virtual or telephonic friends.