I Voted. Finally.
I got to our local polling precinct at 7:10am. Not on time, not early, but as this is a primary, ten minutes post opening should be reasonable. But when I got there, this stocky fellow in a security guard uniform barks from the sidewalk that they’re not ready.
“Who’s not ready?”
“Them in there. They’re still settin’ up the stuff.”
He grumbles and shuffles across the parking lot to his waiting truck. So I wait as well, flipping through the first few pages of The Economist and listening to Morning Edition. When you wake up to NPR, get ready to NPR and drive to work with NPR, you see the story patterns very quickly. At the top of the hour, all the features repeat. At the halves, I think, you get another news update. Finally, after seeing another frustrated citizen walk out and into the lot, I get out of the car to see for myself.
Ocee Elementary smells a bit like the Science Building at Berry. This isn’t entirely a bad thing.
“It’s going to be a bit longer. She hasn’t shown up yet.”
Who? “The precinct manager.”
With that, the already frustrated poll worker drags another bulky case of electric democracy down the hallway.
I decided to wait until after work.
—
Around 3:45pm, I walked in. Registered. Inhaled. Exhaled. Voted. Got my sticker and left by 4:00pm.
So now I’m refreshing the Secretary of State and AJC/Fulton Results pages. Just like watching a pot, waiting for the boil.
