A PC working the Polling Booth or How I survived #abvote
The 2012 Alberta Election was so exciting I needed a break, so I signed up to work as a Poll Clerk (PC). Nothing takes the excitement off an election fever like spending a day meeting the electorate and counting ballots. How hard could it be? The only instruction I was given was "bring a pillow...the chairs are hard."
I arrived at 8:30 and was introduced to my boss for the day, the Deputy Returning Officer (DRO) who seemed familiar as she sleeps next to me on a good night. My DRO was my girlfriend (GF) so I took the opportunity to let her know this was the couples retreat she had been asking for. DRO's & GF's have no sense of humour. The DRO/GF told me what to do and corrected me for my laziness and lack of attention to detail. I set up the cardboard screen, taped up posters advising of the correct procedures then fluffed my pillow. Except for the written ballots and counting the winner at the end of the day, this was going like any other date.
Before the Polls opened, the Supervising Deputy Returning Officer (SDRO) brought us all together for what is apparently the ritual slagging of the training process conducted by the Returning Officer (RO). During training the DRO’s were shown a PowerPoint on how to greet voters, told what to do if the SDRO drops dead and the correct response to a woman wearing a Wildrose patterned dress, the crucial stuff. No one mentioned during training it took a degree in origami to fold the ballots or how to save time for the all important count. This information would have been really helpful during the crucial 2 minutes between when the Poll closes and when the SDRO starts demanding numbers.
Our Polling Station was located in the Gymnasium of a school. The SDRO, standing near the foul line, focuses the attention on us the PC’s and says “The most important thing you need to know..." when suddenly a little girl’s voice began to address the school over the intercom. The SDRO kept talking and we nodded like we heard or something but I still don't know what was so important. I'm betting it wasn't a pillow.
Suddenly the SDRO shouts "Polls are now open" and the early-birds rush in, like a Boxing Day sale at Future Shop. Everyone wants to be Voter # 1 and if they lose the race, the voter becomes “difficult”. The 1st person I gave a ballot to acted like I gave him a bag of dog poop. I panicked and asked my DRO/GF if I had done it right. I then learned another aspect of a good PC, don’t interrupt your DRO, ever. A good DRO is like a goaltender in the NHL playoffs, indispensable to the cause but not someone you should talk to.
This Alberta election there was 2 ballots, which made for some confusion and more than doubled the allotted number of paper cuts. There was a ballot to pick the MLA from your District, the ballot everyone knows about and is excited to vote on. Then there was a ballot with the option to “select from 0 to 3 nominees out of 12 to maybe/possibly/who knows be appointed in theory by the Prime Minister not to the Alberta but Canadian Senate”. No one cared about this vote, not even the nominees running for the "Senate". Every question from a voter was about this Senate ballot. "What is this all about?" and "Why can I choose up to 3 nominees?" and "What's the Senate?" My DRO/GF stepped in and gave me clarity as to the correct response, with a lot of unnecessary attitude, but whatever. "It's not up to us to inform the voter, don't answer anything, just give them a ballot." I did as instructed and for the rest of the day voters thought I was rude and probably a little slow.
Each Polling Station also has the pleasure of being scrutinized by scrutineers from each of the Parties. These are people who are there to ensure the voting process is fair and report back on turnout and the mood of the electorate. I tried to be friendly to the scrutineers and asked all sorts of questions. It felt ironic to scrutinize the scrutineers. My DRO/GF didn't mind when the scrutineers were male but scrutinized my motives when the scrutineers were pretty females. This began the "silent hours" of the job, like a silent couple car ride only public.
By now the day was speeding by fairly quickly. The old voters brought dignity and the new ones enthusiasm, but both had the same Holier than Thou attitude similar to a non-smoker. I felt superior to voters because I was WORKING the election. Sure they were making democracy function but if paper cuts count, I was literally bleeding for my country.
An hour before Polls closed; I noticed a change in the mood of my DRO/GF from cool detachment to a nervous touchiness. The important part of the day was about to happen...the count. The DRO’s began to desperately search thru manuals for instructions on how “Officially” to do the count. I heard this phrase a lot “Let’s do this “Officially” so I assumed the last few elections were “Unofficially” FUBAR.
8:00 and the Polls are closed. Our SDRO issues verbal instructions to follow the printed instructions step by step. The scrutineers are no longer friendly. Everybody is fixated on the count, but the count isn’t really that important. I know this because I counted a lot of good numbers that were rejected quickly. What matters is the balance not the count. My count had to balance the total number of ballots, voters and rejects. After the 1st count these numbers did not balance. The scrutineers became like a flock of vultures waiting to pounce on my carcass. I was no longer that friendly slow witted guy; I was something to complain about. Finally after a removal of shoes and socks to help with my addition, the numbers balanced. Best of all the face I sometimes see beside my pillow was smiling.
All that was left was to fill out the forms, and since this is Government the forms were prodigious, plentiful and picky. Envelopes for ballots, envelopes for rejected ballots, envelopes for ballots that were rejected by other ballots. In the end the count of envelopes was slightly less than the total number of ballots cast. They balanced and all was well.
The SDRO asked at the end of the chaos, if I would like to work the next election. I'm guessing voters look at the sad faces behind the tables and are not lining up to perform a patriotic solid. I felt working an election was like voting. No matter how wrong you feel the outcome is or how painful the process was, you can't help but want to be a part of it. So next time you exercise your duty to democracy, keep an eye out for me and say hi. I'll be the one with the really, really soft pillow. Those seats are hard!
