Self-governing

When the last voter exited our poll site, we applauded.

Fifteen hours after the polls opened, the teardown began. The phrase self-governing kept floating around the back of my mind, seeming to describe everything from how we disassembled folding tables to why our poll site existed at all.

Earlier that morning, I didn’t even have a poll site assignment. Three others and I rode in a car, somehow hired by the election machinery, headed to an understaffed site. Our badges said Stand By, four day laborers of democracy. We showed up, got mistaken for voters, received our assignments, and the real work began. The shift from being a body in a room waiting for my number to be called to serving the public and having a scheduled lunch break was brisk. We lived two lives that day, the waiting and the working. Along the way, multiple members of the public assumed we were volunteers. Nope, just a job. And fortunately, one that didn’t require handing over my identity or stable mental health. Show up before sunrise, go home after sundown. The hours may have been long, but anything I can leave honorably and never get Slack pings from is employment I’ll consider.

None of my fellow workers knew I’d redesigned my entire personal and professional lives around avoiding group conversations. Or the reason I was free at 5am on a Tuesday was because my brain revolted from group meetings specifically and white collar norms more broadly. Who knew a 5-9 could ask less than a 9-5. On this day, all I had to do was interact with one person at a time. I used to joke “I could do that all day!” Tuesday’s itinerary stared back at me, unblinkingly, and said “That’s no longer a joke.”

The Christmas lights that hung from the auditorium ceiling twinkled throughout. Whether they were already up for the upcoming holidays or were never taken down, no one knew. Early November is tricky in that way.

Our site coordinator, fresh off of bringing out the best in someone, gave me a fist bump. “Take your breaks before 5! You all are awesome!” Pride bubbled up in me as I watched my other Stand Bys slot into their roles.

By four, my body felt the sun go down, even in a windowless room. We watched the minutes tick by on the standard-issue tablet, eager to hit 9 o’clock yet eager to serve in the meantime.

A year or three back, I’d have brainstormed how I could work on the software powering the first Tuesday in November. During another season, I would’ve had a list of ideas on how to improve the system and what my role in the change would be. This week, I was content to smile at the public and make their day go a little smoother, one ballot at a time.

Written after serving as a New York City poll worker. Views are my own, not on behalf of the Board of Elections.