I got to my polling place at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration in Silver Spring at 8:30 A.M. The line was already around the block and curled into a nearby parking lot. This line looked like America -- young professionals with hardpasses dangling around their neck, college students, older black folks, transit workers, couples pushing strollers, and a few people I recognized from the Ethiopian church across the street from my building. After about thirty minutes, the line started moving swiftly, and then abruptly stopped. When I stepped out of line for a moment to take a look at what was ahead of me, I saw what had happened: the line was now coiled like a snake in front of the polling place to keep it from stretching down several blocks.
Behind me was a woman who had worked for a local Safeway for a number of years and was soon moving out of the neighborhood because she could no longer afford to live there. She said she had to vote early because she had to bring her elderly father to another polling place. She pointed out several people from her union, the local 700, who were waiting in line in front of us. Behind her was a quiet young brother from Howard who had skipped several classes today just to stand in line and cast a ballot.
About two hours in, the Howard student and I were looking for places to rest our rear ends, on curbs, ledges, leaning against streetlights and trash cans. When I asked the woman whether she wanted to take my seat, she just smiled and said after working at Safeway, she could stand up for as long as it took.
I had a brief conversation with a stout middle aged man in a denim oxford who was smoking a cigarette on the steps in front of the NOAA. He told me that he was one of those laid off by WorldCom at the beginning of the Bush Administration. He was still in disbelief that McCain thought the fundamentals of the economy were strong in early September.
Last time I voted, me and four of my friends packed into a compact and drove to our polling place in Poughkeepsie, New York. The line was short and the voting machine was an aluminum monster with a giant arm that you had to lower to finally cast your ballot.
By comparison, voting in Maryland was like voting on Krypton. I gave my name, birthdate and address, and I had to sign a ballot receipt. The woman gave me an electronic card that I inserted into the Diebold voting machine to cast my ballot, which I sat starting at for about ten minutes.
As I walked out of the building after voting, I glanced at the people still waiting in line. It was still coiled into loops like a phone cord, stretching around the corner and into the parking lot.
I looked at my cell phone. It was already noon.
--A. Serwer
