Confessions of an Ohio poll worker

I went through the training -- twice -- and I'm still confused. I hope I can figure it all out by Election Day because I'm a precinct judge.

Editor's note: The author's real name and other details in this article have been changed to protect the author and other people mentioned. Her identity will be revealed after Election Day.

By Lucy Paul

Read more: Politics, News, 2006 Elections

Nov. 1, 2006 | I had been thinking about working at a polling place on Election Day ever since 2004, when Ohio was the crucial presidential battleground state -- and the red-hot center of controversy, with voters either turned away from the polls, or exercising their rights on machines that recorded their votes incorrectly, or not being able to get to the few machines at all.

Would this year be 2004 all over again, I wondered?

Then I saw a notice in our church bulletin: "Poll Workers Wanted." It said you could help your community and make money, too. It listed the pay: $95 plus training fees as a regular judge, $105 plus training fees as a presiding judge, or $115 plus training fees as a red bag judge. Figuring I could take a paid vacation day from my job while being paid to work a polling place -- and seeing the bill from my husband's student loans -- I decided I could use an extra hundred bucks, in addition to witnessing our democracy at work. Or not.

I speak with Rebecca at the county Board of Elections and tell her I want to be a presiding judge. This looks like the way to go -- it pays more than a regular judge, and doesn't sound as ominous as a "red bag judge." Rebecca sounds thrilled to have someone who wants to work for her.

A friend who has worked for the Board of Elections tells me that poll workers are not hard to recruit -- but presiding judges are. Presiding judges must stay at the polling location from the time it opens until it closes, and then transport all materials back to the Board of Elections, making for one very long day. During voting, they are also in charge of all the other poll workers, scheduling breaks and lunches, and calling the Board of Elections if there is a problem.

Rebecca explains none of this.

She asks whether I am over 18. I say yes. "A registered voter in this county?" Yep. "Ever done this before?" Uh, no. She assures me I'll receive training and takes down my address so she can make sure that I am, indeed, a registered voter and send me a request for an absentee ballot. As a booth official, I will not be able to actually vote on Election Day, since I will be busy while the polls are open, and I will not be assigned to work at the place where I usually vote.

Rebecca offers me a variety of dates for training. I choose one and show up at the county office at 6 p.m. on a Tuesday.

I am ushered into a classroom with a dozen other potential poll workers. Most of them, like me, are female, and most are African-American, between 20 and 35 years old. One older lady has her hair elaborately braided; one older gentleman desperately needs a bath. I sit on the opposite side of the room from him.

Pam is our leader this evening. She introduces James and Don, both of whom, she says, have worked as poll workers for a long time. She starts up a movie for us to watch, and explains that she'll be back when it's over to answer questions and show us how to set up our voting machines. The Diebold machines are packed up and sitting on the tables in front of us.

The movie, produced by the local Board of Elections, doesn't have the quality of your average YouTube video. The beginning music seems vaguely familiar -- and then I realize: It sounds like the soundtrack to a porn movie. As the director and deputy director of the Board of Elections are introduced, the music stops; they look like deer caught in headlights, their discomfort in being on camera painful to watch.

The film quickly moves on to the Top 10 rules of voting in Ohio, which became state law after the 2004 election. In the film, each rule is printed on a sheet of colored paper, amateurishly taped to a wall and filmed. I can't help thinking that this would have been more effective as a PowerPoint presentation -- something most high school students are adept at doing.

Among the rules are that voters must show identification, that voters on the absentee-voting list may vote provisionally, that "witnesses" are now to be called "observers," and that if there are any observers at the polling place, they have to stay 3 feet away from our table.

Then the movie switches into how-to mode. The first segment shows us how to set up the voting machines the night before the election. The Diebold TSX looks pretty complicated, and I'm starting to eye the machines on the tables before us with more than a little wariness.

Next, we learn how we are to help voters on Election Day. The first scenario the film lays out: what to do if we can't get into the polling place. The director and her deputy, along with Pam, our trainer, and another worker from the Board of Elections, all play poll workers in the film.

In the film, a woman comes to vote, and the poll workers ask her for her address. She mentions an address on Smith Road, and hands her identification to another worker. But then the deputy says: "So, Miss James, you live on Belmar Avenue?" And Miss James says that yes, indeed she does, and is allowed to vote.

Huh? Why was she allowed to vote after she initially provided the wrong address? Later, one of my classmates questions Pam about the error.

"Yeah, they screwed that up," Pam says dismissively.

As the polling place is readied, we're instructed, the workers begin getting the machines ready. They remove the seal from the memory card door on the machine, put in the memory card, and reseal the door. The seals are bright blue, and turn white when removed. The director of the board, still playing a poll worker, points out that she has put up signs directing voters to the precinct locator table.

In the film, a large African-American man is shown coming in, handing over his I.D. and voting. A few other voters come in: one whose address on her I.D. doesn't match the one in the signature book provided by the Board of Elections, and another who doesn't have identification or a Social Security number. They're followed by the same African-American man again. (We're not supposed to recognize him from earlier, because he's wearing a jacket this time. This isn't part of the training, an example of a wily Ohioan trying to vote twice -- the board just doesn't appear to have had enough volunteers for the film.)

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