Waking up on election day, the gravity wasn’t lost on me. It’s like the feeling you get watching the Olympics, knowing this special moment will only come every four years and that’s not nearly enough. As much as I desperately want the election to change America for the better, I recognize the unique excitement of seeing the map of our nation light up red and blue and learning our true colors.
There’s a bittersweetness to the election season ending, but it could get all bitter if it doesn’t go our way and Trump wins. It seems a remote possibility, but I’m optimistic. My understanding is that four times as many polls have been conducted and Nate Silver and his colleagues have accommodated for missing factors from 2016. Besides, I’m religious or spiritual or whatever enough to figure the Universe has to even out. Sometimes bad things happen for a reason, but what would be the benefit of four more years of Trump?
My mom called and predicted danger because of shy Trump supporters who don’t want to admit their loyalty in the polls. I can’t fathom such voluntary pessimism.
I still felt like I’ve gotten the hang of canvassing and wanted to do more with it, so I woke up early (for me, that’s around 9) and jumped ship. It was also one of the last opportunities I’d be able to use a car as well. On this particular canvassing trip, I was set to go to Hope Mills which was one hell of a rich suburb.
Naturally, all but two people in this neighborhood weren't home because I assumed many of these people worked throughout the day. One of the households I went to was a man who said that he voted for Trump (I assumed many people in this neighborhood would vote that way). I inquired why this household was listed as that of a registered democrat and he said that was his wife who was off voting for Biden as we speak. I imagine these guys aren’t as split as Kelly Anne and George Conway but I found it to be a start.
I also went to an apartment complex that was a little poorer and saw a notice of a guy who’s ballot had to be cured. I knocked on his door immediately and he wasn't in. His sister answered the door and said Matthew was an hour away in Chapel Hill. I tried to stress the importance of getting his brother back to Fayetteville in the next seven and a half hours so he could revote or at least call the appropriate number.
As my time was running out, I tried to drop as much literature as I could (even to people) who didn’t have the address.
After a lunch at the waffle house (a special treat I reserve if I’m on a road trip), I turned the car in.
Throughout the entirety of this week, I was hoping I might network and make friends. I had chance encounters with strangers and talked to a few locals, and my Air B & B hosts were nice. Still, I thought maybe we’d at least be able to celebrate with a party while we watch the election results. I told Genna this and she said we could at least chat online while watching the party.
Every other day, no one was available to help with a ride and I had to shoulder the cost of an Uber myself. But on election day, there were at least half a dozen organizations to help people get to the polls. As a poll observer they were also willing to help me out, fortunately. Even if I wasn’t a poll worker, Uber did its patriotic part by offering free and discounted rides. The idea that election day happens on a weekday rather than a weekend has often been a critical point of US elections, but little companies can do their part.
I arrived at a fire station which was supposed to be my polling site. I’d done this twice already and prepared for something boring. I also assumed I would be outside so I came armed with snacks, warm clothes, and books.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that the poll chief, Angela, let me stay indoors even though I wasn’t on a list (I was ineligible for inside observation as a non-county resident). There was another poll worker, Collette, who branded herself a “judge” and policed me about no-nos like eating at the polls. There was also a talkative African-American man who was trying to make pleasantries with people at the polls. The polling place has often been described as a watering hole and he was probably the person most responsible for that atmosphere. I tried to be friendly but I wanted to read a book.
What made things more interesting was that for the first time, I wasn’t the only poll observer on site.
A Republican poll observer named Rick showed up on site and he seemed to know exactly what he was doing which was pretty helpful since I had no idea what a poll observer does.
When there was a dispute, however, I once again had an idea what a poll watcher did. Rick observed that the democratic flyer distributor was forty feet from the polling site if you walked outside the perimeter of the building from the entrance way but not from the parking lot. This was an issue because handicapped (or sick) voters are allowed to cast their ballots in the parking lot making the parking lot a voting site of sorts. Additionally, there wasn’t much pathway for the flier distributors to not be a distraction to people walking to the polling place with a parking lot so small.
Playing devil’s advocate, I mentioned that it wasn’t our fault that no Republican flier distributors were on-site. Again I’ll be brutally honest about my shortcomings and tell you that I was mostly just trying to say something remotely intelligent so that he wouldn’t be unchecked. I assumed I was there for that. At the end they compromised and had the guy stand on a different part of the parking lot.
At the end of this dispute, I pointed out to Rick that this particular flier distributor appeared to not be particularly aggressive anyway. Like George and AJ on the first and second day, he was paid $100 a day by congressional candidate Patricia Timmons-Goodson to stand and pass out literature. Whereas George and AJ made an effort to engage the public, this guy mostly just hung out and planned out fantasy football with a nearby friend (a whole other debate could be had over what to do with legality of the friend). This mutual point of agreement about his lethargy set off a friendlier conversation
In Rick’s efforts to make polite conversation, he asked me where I was from. Rather than say I was all about wanting to defeat the evil Republicans (which is true), I said that I wanted to explore a new place and have an adventure. He even agreed to give me a ride downtown if I wanted to watch the results near headquarters (I imagined some people would be congregating there).
Another friendly dispute between me and Rick was when a certain voter backed out of voting because he wasn’t well-educated. I tried to at least guide him to research the options because I assumed a well-researched voter would probably veer towards Biden and other Democrats. He didn’t hear the conversation but told me I wasn’t allowed to talk to the voters at all, in a sort of “by the way” fashion.
Before the election was over, Indiana and Kentucky started reporting results on the TV in the fire house lodge. I popped over and asked who the two Fayetteville firefighters on site were rooting for and they said they had an ironclad rule not to discuss politics. The thrill and fear of the map meant that I knew I’d be addicted for the rest of the night.
Then things got worse in every conceivable way. The Fayetteville fire station chief came in and said that the lounge was closed off to civilians and that I can only watch the results through the door and things started looking bad for us. Meanwhile, Rick ditched me for reasons I didn’t know.
A second member among the crew of poll workers, Miles, stepped up to volunteer to give me a ride but Collette, the overbearing judge who wasn’t in charge, forbade it. Collette likes to ruin the party.
As I checked on the phone, Florida and Georgia oscillated. It was the first blow of the night. After 90 minutes I was increasingly hungry, irritated at Rick for ditching me, and annoyed at the gap of information. Finally, the election precinct completed their results and the talkative poll worker gave me a lift to a local Buffalo Wild Wings.
Buffalo Wild Wings was full of TVs and customers but they were missing one thing: A television showing the election results. I understood the need for escape all too well. When I visit my parents, they watch too much news and I often want to turn it off because why expose yourself to painful news you usually can’t do much about? But not this night. My twitter feed was looking a little downcast but I had hope.
I asked the manager to switch TV stations and when that didn’t work, I made a dash across the street. I had hope and went to a bar across the street. The staff at this other restaurant was extremely pleasant and asked how I was doing it and, seeing that we were about to lose Florida, I replied “well, it’s the end of the world.” As I was looking at the results while eating a meal, I lost the sense of adventure of this trip. I woke up this morning thinking the worst possibility was that I might watch the results alone. Now, the stakes have suddenly become much more real.
I texted Genna and said I couldn’t fathom such an outcome. She said the country would be ok one way or another but I wasn’t really sure and I couldn’t fathom a bright side. It was fight-or-flight.
I looked at the experts but for a while things looked bleak. Two of the handful of diners present were Trump supporters. One was a bit of a crazy lady who seemed to process everything Fox News gave her without a filter.
The second was a demure man with a mustache who looked like a shorter version of Will Ferrell’s character in Talladega Nights, and seemed pretty reasonable despite being a Trump voter. He said that he liked to vote for the economy. I really couldn’t muster much emotion except fight-or-flight but this guy gave me enough pause. I could sort of get him for a couple moments. I decided that in a sort of karmic way I would wish him a good night as well as Crazy Trump Lady.
I resolved to make like the Buffalo Wild Wings crowd and go home and watch something non-political. But to make matters worse, Uber was surging like there was no tomorrow. I got a cab ride home and the driver gave me crap over not having a credit card. Back in my hometown, cab drivers used to pull this trick because they didn’t want to take the 6% cut. To combat this, I told cabbies that if they wanted a tip they’d have to take credit card. This jerk felt he was entitled to choose mode of payment and gripe about a tip. I started to feel like, screw Trump, this guy was enemy #1. Yes, I was in massive fight-or-flight on this dystopic night but I’ve endured dishonest cabbies for years and this guy sucked. When I went to get my cash from upstairs, I told the driver he should take credit card but when I realized the fare would come out to $13 change off $20, I gave him an extra dollar. I’m superstitious and thirteen is an unlucky number. I gave him $12 and explained to him my superstition because Biden would need all the help he could get.
I decided that my best chance was to simply take my mind off the results and pray. I watched some “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” to steer my mind as far in the opposite direction of politics as I could. I didn’t check the results before going to bed.
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