It's election day. The polling places in Missouri open early enough that I could vote before work and not be late, but that would require I get up earlier than usual, and I'm not a big fan of getting up early. Besides, assuming I don't work too late, I have enough time to vote after work too, so that is a better plan, and what I did today.
My polling place is conveniently located on my way to and from work, but when I pulled into the parking lot there were no cars there, and instead of last-minute campaigners staked out on the sidewalk, there was just a sign that said if you were in District A, go to some other place to vote, or if you were in District B, go somewhere else instead. (The districts are actually numbered, not lettered, but you get the idea.) I don't know what district I'm in--I always just go to the address on the reminder card they mail out before every election, and it's been at the same place since I moved here. Except I did not receive a reminder card this time, which should have been my first hint that something was amiss.
I went home and called the Jackson County Election Board to find out where my new polling place is located. After about five minutes on hold, the woman who answered looked up my name, confirmed my address, and told me where to go. No problem. It was getting late, but there was still about an hour before the polls closed, so I drove to the address she gave me. I had my ID handy and they pointed me to the poll worker with the correct binder, but to my surprise, I wasn't on the list. That has never happened to me before. I've had them not be able to see my name until I, reading upside-down, pointed it out to them, but I have always been on the list when I show up to vote.
I waited expectantly until someone finally pointed out a table in the back staffed by a young woman on a cellphone--clearly waiting for someone to answer--surrounded by a half-dozen people looking at her expectantly. The woman became increasingly flustered and apologetic while those waiting grew increasingly frustrated. One man was there with his wife and said that although they had registered at the same time, only he was eligible to vote. Several others began comparing notes and reported that this was their regular polling place and they had been at the same address for many years and had not moved. We all learned that while we showed up on the list she had on her computer, all of our voter registrations were inactive, which the woman staffing the table could not explain because no one at the Election Board was answering the phone.
Our options were to A) go away without voting, B) drive to the Election Board in the hopes of working it out in person--an iffy prospect given the limited amount of time until the polls closed and rush hour traffic between here and there, or C) casting a provisional ballot. I chose the provisional ballot.
Every election--especially big ones--you hear about voting problems, and the media talks to people who are upset because the had to cast provisional ballots. I've listened to those reports with half an ear, kind of tuning it out, because really...they got vote, right? But it isn't until you have to vote provisionally yourself that you realize how personal it feels. I did everything I need to do to exercise my civic duty: I registered, I showed up, only to be told that maybe it will count and maybe it won't. Sure, I got the same ballot as everyone else, but my ballot had to go into a special envelope, and then I had to drop it into a separate ballot box, where after some days or weeks of investigation they will determine that the error was theirs and finally open the box to tally my vote. Except by then the results will already have been determined and announced and certified, meaning my vote really did not count at all. That feels personal to me.
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