Paper Ballot

So I went to vote. I had a last minute panic when I reached for my wallet. Did I change my address on my New York State I.D.? Whew! I was safe. My new address was on the card. Were there any questions to respond to? Why hadn’t I gotten any voter information in the mail? In my old neighborhood you would have seen lots of Election Day activity. There would be volunteers passing out leaflets right up to the point where signs say no campaigning beyond this point. Was I going to be disappointed again?

The voting site was in the Senior Citizens Center on Halsey Street. It’s around the corner from where we live. My husband and I walked over. I strolled in feeling proud and smart wearing my “HATE stole her CHOICE” t-shirt. We are directed to the table for our district. Two women, each with a role book, greet us. We present our identification. I am so proud I remembered to change my address. One woman thinks my name is too long, and that it won’t be in the book. I trust it will. She reminds me of my great-grandmother’s best friend. Her hair is styled in a 1940’s pageboy, finger waves and all. She has a gold crown on one tooth. She can’t find my name.

The woman beside her looks for it. They find my husband’s name. He makes a joke about woman’s suffrage. I nudge his shoulder, wishing he would be quiet. All the poll workers are women. The second woman can’t find my name. I’m thinking, perhaps I’ll have to get in the car and drive to Harlem. My husband goes into the booth to vote. As soon as he comes out we’re going uptown. The woman at the table with the hair like Veronica Lake asks me if I want a paper ballot. I haven’t considered that. I take it. The women point out a table on the other side of the room. They tell me to use the standing cardboard to cover my ballot with it. “So no one will see,” they tell me.

I’ve never used a paper ballot. I am suspicious. I am given a ballot and an envelope. The envelope in which I am to place the ballot has directions all printed in red. I read everything carefully. A warning at the top says to check only one. I mark the box that identifies me as someone who has, recently moved. I begin to check the ballot. I check all the items and review them a few times. I seal the envelope.

I take it back to the table and expect to place it in a box. One of the women at the table says I can give the ballot to her. I hesitate. I don’t trust her. I don’t even see a ballot box. I give her my ballot. I stand there. I watch her write something on the envelope. I’m silently watching her. She’s gonna throw it away. I know it.

I am upset. Frustrated with myself that I haven’t obviously remembered to check the box when I changed my address on my State I.D. You know the box that asks if you are a registered voter. I guess if you move, you are no longer a “registered” voter.

As soon as I got home I filled out a change of address card for the board of elections. My husband found the form. He is redeemed. He even went with me to the mailbox with me at 8:30 PM after putting out the garbage.

I went to sleep listening to the returns on the radio. I am so glad that through the course of the day, the Democrats took the House, Donald Rumsfeld resigned, and the Democrats also took the Senate. I imagine that if the Democrats had only needed one vote to take the House, I would have been arrested. The headlines would have read:

“BROOKLYN WOMAN GOES BALLISTIC OVER UN-CAST BALLOT”