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A Curtain, Tool Belt and One Vote

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By SANDRA WEBBER

The Tampa Tribune

Published: November 3, 2008

In 1992's presidential election, I ran into a little problem casting my vote for Ross Perot.

On that Election Day, I'd managed to be in my hometown after spending a few years meandering around the country. It was a perfect blue-skied morning with just the right amount of November chill blowing through the pine trees.

At the elementary school, behind the soft chatter of freshly scrubbed still half-asleep kids. the lady poll worker with her perfectly coiffed salt and pepper beehive scanned the list of names on her list and confirmed my legal right to vote.

The line was moving right along, and soon enough it was my turn in the booth behind the thick burgundy curtain. I pulled the lever for Ross and a few others I wasn't so sure about and turned to leave. That's when the curtain should have magically released itself and allowed me to leave and proudly apply my "I voted" sticker. I'm always a little nervous with technical gadgetry, even as simple as this seemed to be.

I reached up to pull the curtain back. The metal hooks wouldn't budge.

"Uh ... psssst ... excuse me, sir ... over here ... yoo-hoo ... can you ... isn't the curtain supposed to let me slide it after I pull the thingamajig?" I stammered as I pulled the curtain up by its hem and peeked under.

A gentleman with kind eyes walked over, and confirmed that indeed, the "mechanism" and therefore the curtain were stuck. I stood there rather uncomfortably with all the eyes and ears of the crowd focused on the situation at hand.

After a hushed chat with the beehive lady and a few phone calls, I assumed, to central voting command, this gentleman determined my vote would not be recorded unless and until the mechanical curtain functioned as it was intended. And of course I couldn't and wouldn't leave the booth until this happened.

Bummer.

For over an hour, inside the tiny booth I stood, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the "fix," whatever it might be. I fantasized that my one vote could swing the election.

Finally, a smiling, ruggedly handsome guy wearing a flannel shirt, a well-equipped tool belt around his waist, and carrying a rather large toolbox appeared. He acted like he'd seen this kind of thing before. He did something with a wrench and another tool to the mechanism above my head, and "voila," the magic curtain clicked.

I pulled back the drapery easy as pie.

By that time voters had started to curl around through the hallways and near to the kids lining up for whatever it is elementary school kids line up for. I walked out into the slight chill of that bright autumn day assured that my vote had been recorded and counted for Mr. Perot and the state of Alabama.

In the scheme of what folks worldwide have endured for the privilege of voting and making it count, my little delay pales in comparison, I readily concede.

I'm glad my little problem was resolved by the services of one competent and rather hunky guy with a tool belt and by standing in the voter booth for an hour that I hadn't planned on. On Tuesday, with so much at stake, we can only hope for such easy solutions should snags in making sure every single vote count crop up anywhere along the way.

Sandra Webber is a freelance writer living in Clearwater.

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