Some people serve their country by
joining the armed forces. Others volunteer at soup kitchens and thrift store.
My choice for public service is to be a Judge of Election.
Okay, so it’s not on par with
fighting in the war or helping the homeless, and I get paid, but it feels like
a Sisyphean task making sure voting goes smoothly. To make it more interesting,
recent voting technology has altered the job considerably, something that was
acknowledged by the election commission appointing ‘Chief Judges,’ who, in
actuality, were technically proficient in running and repairing various
electronic voting devices. In a cruel bureaucratic turn, Chief Judges don’t
have any authority over other judges—but they do have authority over the
equipment. Hence, the Chief Judge spends most of their day bossing around
inanimate objects. The election commission has bestowed this honor upon me.
But being an election judge means
you have to be trained. And as there is an election coming up, I received
notice to report to a training class. Unfortunately alcohol use is frowned upon
and my supply of hallucinogenic mushrooms was low, so I had to go stone cold
sober.
I walked into the room reserved for
training, and was confronted by the usual crowd of elderly who have opted to
supplement their Social Security with a little government work. In my
experience, I have found that 85 percent of election judges are a: elderly, b:
highly opinionated, and c: clueless about efficient voting procedures. On
several occasions, I have physically disabled a judge running amok.
Fortunately, the elderly are easily taken down by physical force.
The training session starts out by
administering the test. This test is actually quite important, as payment for
being an election judge depends upon you successfully completing the test. But
rather then actually testing to see if prospective judges know anything, the
accepted procedure is to go through the test, question by question, and have a
lengthily discourse on the correct answer. This class was no exception. The
instructor proceeded to read the first question, solicit correct responses from
the class, and then provide a discussion on why the answer is correct.
So the instructor will read a
question: “True or False: Judges should arrive 30 minutes before the polls open
to set up the precinct for the day’s activities. Anyone?”
An elderly woman in the audience
responds: “In our polling place during the last election, we all got there 90
minutes before the polls opened, but there was no one to let us in, so we had
to wait outside for an hour. My hair was wet, and it froze to my ears.”
The instructor will then prompt the
audience for another answer. Invariably, it usually takes two or three people
before someone figures out that, since it’s a true/false question, they simply
need to say “true.”
At that point, the instructor will
then explain the answer. “According to the Judge of Election Handbook, which
was approved by both the county board and state legislator, judges are to
arrive at the polling place thirty minutes before the polls open. This means,
since the polls open at 6 a.m., you have to be there at 5:30, so you can help
set up the equipment, put up all the signs, and decide who’s working at each of
the five stations. It’s also important to note that if the polling place isn’t
available to you at 5:30, like if the door is locked or the floor is covered in
disgusting chemicals like molasses, then you need to call the election
commission.”
At that point, an audience member
will ask: “But what if it isn’t a disgusting liquid, but rather something kind
of clean, like sand? We had a problem in the last election because our polling
place had sand on the floor.”
This doesn’t really sound too bad
until you realize there are 144 questions on the test.
Once the class has gone through all
of the questions, the instructor then asks if there are any other questions.
One of the judges stood up and said, “Is it okay if the pollwatchers bring in
doughnuts and coffee, but not share them with the election judges?”
“The pollwatchers are there simply
to make sure that the polling place operates as specified by law. They have the
right to observe all voting procedures, and can be in the polling place from
when it opens until all the judges leave.” The instructor paused to gulp more
air. “The pollwatchers do have the right to bring in any food or drink for
their own purposes unless it is prohibited by the owner of the polling place,
or if it interferes with voting.”
“So if the judges decide that it’s
interfering in the polling place, the pollwatchers have to remove the food?”
The man looked giddy at the prospect.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Another judge stood up. “But what if
the food causes a judge to have a severe allergy?”
“Well, a severe allergy might be
something that would interfere with voting, depending upon what happens. If the
person simply has their eyes water, or maybe get the sniffles, then it wouldn’t
be considered a problem.”
“What about incontinence?”
“Incontinence might be a valid
reason, but I’ve never heard of that being an issue before. All of our polling
places are required to provide bathroom facilities.”
An older woman wearing a tweed
housecoat stood up. “I understand that the judges are the final authority on
deciding who can vote. I’ve heard that other polling places actually gave dogs
the right to vote. Can we do that here?”
“Yeah, that’s the way they do it at
Wal-Mart,” someone shouted from across the room. The lady wearing the tweed
housecoat fumbled with her wallet.
“Election judges do have the
authority, within reason, to decide who can and can not vote.” The instructor
said. “They still have to abide by all of the state statues, which do indicate
that only humans can be franchised as voters.”
“What does Subway have to do with
voting?” Asked someone up front.
The lady with the tweed housecoat
was still standing, and had produced a plastic accordion filled with pictures
of a Yorkshire terrier bedecked in patriotic ribbons. “This is Robert. I think
he should be able to vote. He sleeps with me at night.”
“Don’t some Wal-Marts have Subways
in them?” asked a disembodied voice from the rear.
“I’m sorry, but it’s not possible
for your dog to vote, ma’am.” The instructor said.
“But if the other judges agree, then
it would be okay, wouldn’t it? Don’t the judges have the right to decide who
votes?”
“You can buy franchises of
Wal-Mart?” asked another voice from the front.
“The right to vote is limited to
people. Dogs can’t vote,” the instructor said.
“Once you’re appointed to be a
judge, then you’re a judge for the whole two-year term?” I looked closely at
the youngish woman standing near the back. It was Violent Moonbeam.
“Yes, once you have completed the
course, you are officially appointed as a judge within the county, along with
all of the rights and responsibilities of the judgeship in which you are
appointed with,” the instructor answered.
“What if you also happen to be a
public notary?” Asked someone in the front row.
“So once I have been appointed as a
judge of election, I can then also be eligible for appointments to other
judgeships?” Violent asked.
“Yes, that’s correct. If you have
sufficient education and skills, you could also serve in variety of other
judgeships, once appointed.”
“So I could be a traffic judge?”
Asked an old man up front.
“If you have experience in the
traffic court, yes you could be appointed to a traffic judgeship.”
“What if I want to be a new kind of
judge, like a judge that goes out and determines if someone’s lawn is properly
mowed?” someone from the rear asked.
“Landscape judgeships are usually
awarded by municipalities, but we do have two slots. They’re currently
occupied,” the instructor replied.
"But what if I just want to do
it on a volunteer basis?” asked an old man in front.
After another forty-five minutes of
questions, the meeting broke up. Thankfully, I have no more meetings for the
next two years.
