My polling place was about the size and a half of my room. I don't understand that. I thought Inwood was a big neighborhood. Maybe it's because voter turnout is not the grand adventure I thought it was? Or maybe Inwood has more than one polling place. My little place had three districts in it. Maybe other places have three or more. Or less.
The voting booth has easily seen several hundred Presidential elections. Big red lever to crank once to the right, then flip about half dozen little black flippers about the size of half my finger, then ratchet the red lever back to the left. This tallies votes how exactly? What did the little black flippers do, punch a hole in a scorecard? I say scorecard because I do remember something about hanging chads a bit ago, and so I figured...
But whatever. The Good Shepherd polling place saw my attendance this morning. So did about two score voters. Hispanic, white, black, male, female. Some more talkative than others to help me find the correct table to approach and verify my registration. Volunteers manning the tables, door, and booths with no particular people skills, but the dedication to show up.
I've done this before. For every election since Reagan. Including Reagan. But for some reason, leaving out of my polling center today, my face split in a poop-eating grin.
Grinning like a loon.