I Was a Poll Worker on Election Day. I Saw Why Every Vote Counts.
Around nine in the morning at the voting site I worked in Brooklyn, a disagreement broke out between poll workers. Outside, it was a rather blustery fall morning with high winds. Inside the high school gym we were using as a location (go Tigers!), we burrowed deep into our coats and scarves. A rafter window was left open overnight; a custodian was on his way to climb up and close it.
Shutting the window won the popular vote among us poll workers shivering as we directed voters to their ballot booths, peddling the promise of democracy. Every vote counts, we believed. That was why we had signed up to run the polls.
But then there was Florida. Every election, Florida screws something up, acts as contrarian. That’s what I decided to call the woman who, despite our democratic process, stopped us from closing the window. “Florida” had allergies and needed adequate air flow, so we left it open. (For a few hours, at least—by evening time the window had been shut.)