Why is the place which we vote called the polling place? There are so many polls being taken to see who has the edge before we vote. That makes calling the voting place a polling place confusing to me. According to Webster’s Dictionary, a poll can either be the process by which we vote or a head. Score a point for the confusing versatility of the English language. If I had overseen the compilation of a dictionary, I would not have touched that assignment with a ten-foot poll, I mean pole. Essentially, the origins of the word polling place came from getting a head count for an election.

Now that we’ve learned something, it’s time to go to the polling place and vote. Although it is not on the ballot, fun has my vote. Smiling at people and joking with them while thanking them for serving at the polling place also has my vote. You can learn a lot about a person by how they respond to a joke.

Scene:

It’s early voting time, and Bob and I approach the polling place, a former Party City which now welcomes all parties, Democrats, Republicans, and Independents alike, into their location. Two people wait to greet us and direct us into the building. Before entering, we need to deposit my mom’s and sister’s mail-in ballots in the monitored collection box. They are examined for signatures, and Bob and I are given the once-over in what I assume is their effort to see if we are padding the ballot box.

One of the workers is a man close to our age. He’s jovial and hands us Just Voted stickers to take home. The other worker is a woman who seems friendly enough. I am a little out of step here, so I affix a sticker onto my shirt, proclaiming to all that I just voted. Only I didn’t.

That was questioned at the table which we stopped at once inside the building. I was helped by a woman around my age. (I guess we have more time on our hands than a lot of people.) She looked at my sticker and said inquisitively, “You voted?”

“Oh, no,” I responded and went on to explain to her that I guess my sister wasn’t getting a sticker after all. The records verified that I indeed had not yet voted.

She then made a comment to the tune of Florida isn’t like California. Immediately she looked embarrassed, but I assured her that a little joke at the expense of one of our united fifty was okay with me, especially if it was California. Her guffaw was safe with me. She seemed relieved.

I know this is a serious election. They all are. Have you noticed that almost every presidential election people say is the most important one of our lives and the state of the republic hangs in balance? I guess I’ve voted a few times now, because that line has gotten old, even if it is true.

I do believe it is an important election, mainly because the sides are so starkly opposite each other, and I fear a truly united United States is impossible. I do believe that we can try harder not to hate each other though, especially since it may be that half the country is going to be disappointed and sad (hopefully not angry) next week.

But I digress. After painstakingly filling in all the bubbles, I proceeded to the last usher in my journey. She tells me to place one ballot at a time of our two-page ballots into the machine. After I do, she hands me a sticker and looks confused.

Just at that moment, when I decline the sticker, anonymous California joker comes over to explain and join me in some more banter. I tell them both that my sister won’t be getting a sticker this year. You must be present to win. California girl and I laugh and high five. The other woman smiles politely.

As we leave, we pass the first two poll workers. I tell them that I’ll see them tomorrow when we can do this all over again. The man chuckles. The woman tells me that I’ll be going to jail.

My conclusion – there are two kinds of people in this world, and I have no idea if they are Democrats or Republicans, but I like the ones who laugh at my jokes.