"Anyone who votes for Bush is nuts in the head."

by Holly Burnside

9:00 AM on the nose, Tuesday November 4th, I arrived at my polling place, University Square, 3901 Market Street. I was excited. It was the first time I would get to vote at an actual polling place, having voted by absentee ballot in 2000 and in 1998. It was also the first time I really felt strongly about any election race. I had done my research; I had made my decisions. I knew who I was supporting, and I knew why.

A walk through the voting room and down a long hallway took me to the end of the line; I had entered through the exit. The line started to fill in behind me within minutes. Soon I started overhearing a running commentary from an elderly woman behind me. She had the kind of voice that carries over all others; I rarely heard any of her companion’s responses. I could only assume that she was a resident of the building, because she said (a few times) that when she came down for breakfast at 7 AM, the line was already forming.

She made no secret about which Presidential candidate she was supporting. “John Kerry, he’s my man.”

I thought to myself, okay, if I have to listen to someone, at least it’s not a Bush supporter. Plus, her reasoning, I thought, was amusing.

“That John Kerry, he was very good looking when he was younger… He has two beautiful daughters, too.” Not exactly the same criteria I would use to choose a President, but again, at least she wasn’t a Bush supporter.

This became even more evident a few minutes later. “Anyone who votes for Bush is nuts in the head.” It was almost too much.

And then…

“Who else are we voting for?”

I was crushed. Something about that simple question made my excitement level fall into the basement. My faith in the democratic process was not what it had been just fifteen minutes before. What good was all of the effort to Get Out the Vote if people weren’t going to take it seriously? It was really depressing.

The only other interesting thing I saw was little bit later on. I had moved up in the line so that I was in the actual room with the voting booths. Another elderly woman, an African-American got to the front of the line. She was ready to go; she knew who she was voting for too.

“I’m voting straight Democratic,” she proclaimed to the twenty-something volunteer.

“Okay, but let me give you the instructions for both parties just so it’s fair,” he said.

“Nope, I don’t need it. I’m voting straight Democratic,” she protested.

“Well, I really should give you the same instructions I’ve given everyone else.”

But she still wasn’t having it. Finally, another volunteer, a middle-aged African-American man came over. “You want straight Democrat? Press this button and this button,” he said. She walked away happy.

All of this made my first polling place experience a little bit anticlimactic. Perhaps it was an early indication of things to come. Perhaps it was just the inevitable conclusion to nearly two years of build-up. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Anyway, I had done my part, and throughout the rest of the day I came to realize that that’s really all anyone can do. There’s always 2008.