Because last year's Alternate Judge (a democrat) for my precinct was not able to work the poll, she asked me to help.  Anxious to do my part for the election of Obama, I gladly accepted.  It was an interesting process which included a lengthy class on election law.  The day of the historic vote was 16 hours of non-stop action.  The experienced group of election workers who’d done this every year for at least 12 years, welcomed me (despite my liberal tendencies) and we actually had a great time. 

And despite being in a Baptist church, surrounded by Baptist Republicans (the other election workers) and even despite a visit from Preacher Dave (silver and blue striped cuffed shirt with cufflinks to boot), it was a fairly good experience again this year.

The only sore spot is one of the election clerks, Lonny (who looks a lot like my father), a lecherous old man in constant need of attention.  Since I was a newby in 2008 and because we were slammed most of the day, I had to tolerate the times when he put his arm around a female voter, or reached in and touched the voting machine. 

But this year, a week before Election Day, I told Steve, the Election Judge (a sweet man, more Independent than Republican, a devout Baptist and an engineer - infer what you will from these labels) that there were some issues I would like to address (specifically about Lonny).  He listened, took notes, and vowed to address my concerns in a meeting of all the workers on the morning of the election.  And he did, in a general, milk-toast kind of way.  Election day is too hectic to have a meaningful discussion or attempt to enlighten someone on the law. 

Let me interject right here:  the rules of helping voters limit election workers to describing how to turn the dial to highlight a choice, then hit enter to accept that choice.  At no time are workers to touch voters, look at the screen, or GOD FORBID touch the dial or buttons on the voting machine.

Lonny started the day by taking my hand, then holding my hand in both of his hands for a lot longer than necessary – and saying “Nice to see you again, sweets.”  I hear your collective groans.  I swear, if Lonny’s not putting the shine on a woman, he seems to be in deep thought contemplating how to.  Also like my dad that way – wasting an otherwise clever brain on manipulating any opportunity to bask in the glow of someone who thinks he’s just the greatest thing since sliced bread.

When someone (a woman) asks for help, he approaches with open arms, laying one hand between her shoulder blades and hunching down between the privacy panels really close to “help” her.  He not only looks at the screen, he’ll physically touch the ENTER button, or turn the dial, to show her how it’s done.  And amazingly, I’ve never seen a woman who did not respond favorably to this behavior. 

Once we were operational, Lonny took his post of choice as Helper, positioned near the voting machines.  Not only does Lonny offer help, he trolls for opportunities to help.  He strides up and down behind voters, peering over their shoulders to observe what their screen looks like.  When he senses any hesitation or confusion he pounces, and you guessed it -- it’s ALWAYS a woman.  I have never ever seen him help a man, except for once – a handicapped man, in which case he proceeded to point out the dial and the enter button.  He assumes that if you are a woman or if you are handicapped, you’re an idiot.  He also assumes that his style of helping is comforting and appreciated.  It would never occur to him to just answer the goddamn question.

Another issue I have with Lonny is his need to talk.  He talks to people (his buddies) before, during and after they’ve voted, all while standing a foot away from other people who are voting.  I even overheard bits of a conversation he had with another old man about his political beliefs (it wasn’t pretty).  Since I was busy with voters, I just gave him a look of disdain and he guided the old guy out into the hall.  He seemed to get the hint after that and I saw him steering people out into the hall to talk. 

Once I interrupted him trying to explain one of the propositions up for a vote to – you guessed it – a woman.  I told her the best we could do would be to read the proposition to her.  Lonny turned abruptly and walked away. 

Later, fed up with my constant antagonizing (from his perspective), Lonny motioned to Steve to step outside.  I knew Steve was getting an earful about me, and when they came back, I searched Steve’s face for a sign.  He just grinned and ever so slightly shook his head.

The two clerks in charge of printing out access codes to the voting machines started up a conversation.  Jim is another long-time precinct workers.  He’s a retired, blue-collar-VietNamVet-Baptist-Republican-to-the-core, salt of the earth kind of guy.  Lee is a small, elderly Vietnamese man.  Jim asked Lee how long he had been in the U.S.  Lee said he’d come to America in 1975 and struggled to provide for his family and succeeded in putting his three kids through college and they each had very successful careers now.  Jim, who was shot in the chest in Viet Nam, told Lee about his experiences there and Lee shared how he had been born in North Viet Nam and moved South in the 50’s when the communists took over and split the country.  Lee is as wrapped in the flag as Jim and those two were having a great time reminiscing about their  war.  Later Jim joked that Lee was the one who actually shot him when he was in Viet Nam and Lee joked and said next time he’d do a better job.  Jim admitted that a few years before he would not have been able to sit at the same table as a Vietnamese man.

I was stationed most of the day with Norma (Jim’s wife) at the check-in table qualifying voters.  I told her I was disgusted with Lonny’s behavior and was trying to enlighten him that it was illegal to help people the way he went about it.  She agreed and said she cringed every time he touched her.  Of course, she’s married to Jim, so Lonny pretty much leaves her alone.  But Norma is the kind of woman who would be mortified to even hint out loud to another person that she was uncomfortable with any bad behavior.  She was grinning from ear to ear, though, every time I got up and “joined” Lonny to help a voter.  When I told her Lonny was pouting and would not even look me in the eye, she said “and that’s a bad thing?”

Lonny did not speak to me, look at me, or thankfully, touch me the rest of the day.  He tried at every opportunity to “help” as only Lonny knows how, though.  In my daydream, I imagine that next time (a run-off election) there will be a poll-watcher present and the infractions I witnessed will become serious enough to either send Lonny to class or bar him from assisting except to qualify voters. 

Of course, this is fantasy.  Even if the election officials received a dozen complaints about him, they have bigger fish to fry.  But one of these days, Lonny’s gonna wrap his arm around some girl who’s not going to take kindly to an old geezer touching her.  And when that happens, watch out, he’ll wind up on the floor in a fetal position holding his nuts crying like a baby.  THEN, MAYBE, he’ll think twice before thrusting himself on anybody again. 

In my dreams, it would be me doing the kicking.   

Let it go, Sarah, let it go.