Delegation, Part 4

(Start with Part 1, most recent is Part 3)

"At least it's inside," I thought to myself as I turned to walk through the double glass doors.

My coordinator, P, was just inside, and I informed her of my situation. We walked down the north hall together and found a spot in the line, and then she went searching for answers to my missing file.

What could the issue possibly be? I had voted during my lunch break on election day, and had been validated at the caucus later that evening. There were roll sheets with my name and voting page from the caucus, and I had signed the same sheet that all of the other delegates had signed. No one else in my group seemed to have this problem. I'd been sent to hell's equivalent of a penalty box, sequestered from my pack and left alone to contemplate my sins.

Perhaps "left alone" isn't quite the right term, for there were certainly a lot of people in this line and it was continuing to grow. The crowding of this line was compounded by the increasing activity of the concessions stands against the other wall. Much like a cholesterol buildup, the thickening against both sides of the artery made flow difficult, and was eventually going to give someone a heart attack. Why didn't they put us in the other hall, away from the vendors? The world may never know.

I leaned back against the dark brick wall near a side exit. Quite often people would cut through the line at this point and step outside, presumably to fill their lungs with cancer dust. There was no more movement or adjustment of scenery, just a lot of staring across the hallway at the validated spending hundreds of dollars on nachos and sodas. It was nearing noon, and I was starting to regret my decision to pass on breakfast earlier. Other body stresses, including but not limited to my tiring legs and feet, kept my mind off the food situation for the moment.

P arrived, but with little new information. She pointed out that many precincts were having similar issues, a fact I'd already divined from the increasingly dense line that now ran around the corner, end out of sight. She reserved my spot in line while I took a short jaunt over to the men's room to provide my body a little relief. I returned to the same exact spot a few minutes later and resumed the wait. At this point I had been standing for four hours straight.

Irritability crept in around me. The inhabitants started complaining, at first just amongst themselves, but later towards the volunteers who were trying to sort out and relay information regarding the situation. One of the volunteers, a very young, average build brunette wearing an Uncle Sam top-hat with bayoneted American flag, was trying her damnedest to be as helpful as she possibly could. Unfortunately for her, this meant that most of the ridicule was directed her way. She ran up and down the lines trying to resolve some of the larger scale problems, e.g. entire precincts missing, and asking people to stay against the walls such that traffic could still flow.

"They aren't going to start without us," I stated plainly to P as she returned to stand with me in line. "And besides, I've got nowhere else to be today." That was a lie. At this point I'd be hard pressed to reach my nephew's first birthday party later in the afternoon. Things were not progressing nearly as quickly as we'd originally been told, and those of us in the credentials line were preventing the process from moving forward.

The crowding to my left eventually started to thin, followed by actual movement in that direction. After taking care of the large scale problems, the needs of the individuals were being addressed. This wasn't apparent to the man in front of me, who continued to interrogate the young volunteer. As she was moving away, I caught her attention.

"Thank you," I stated sincerely. She nodded and smiled.

"You're doing a heck of a job!" declared a larger young man standing right behind me. "Keep up the good work!" She nodded again and hustled down the hallway to resolve more complaints.

"She really needed that," he commented in my direction.

"Yeah, it's a thankless job."

A short while later my precinct chair arrived with a clump of documents, on top of which was a list of names including mine stamped with the page numbers of the voting rolls - solid evidence of my attendance at both the voting and local caucus. The chair of the credentials committee (CCC) came over to discuss some issues with a couple of squeaky wheels standing behind me from precinct 2107. Somehow I was lumped in with them as he, for yet a still unknown reason, whisked us to the front of the line (much to the ire of some of the volunteers). I did as I was told, and finally arrived at the credentials table.

The reasons for the sluggishness were more transparent upon approaching the table. Three volunteers shuffled through huge boxes of files, notebooks, and other documentation trying to resolve various issues. Folders were strewn all over the place, and a bunch of people stood along the walls filling out registration forms. The mass of people filling out replacement forms clogged the traffic artery so much that a disabled woman couldn't get through to her seat. A fist-fight nearly erupted as one of the plebeians violently disagreed with some of the volunteers' shouting to clear out the hallway, and I stood directly between the two of them.

It was this point at which I first considered abandoning my post. I could handle the waiting, the bureaucratic incompetence, the unpleasant smells of human bodies in close proximity, but not conflict. I stayed my course, however, and filled out my little blue form.

"Ok, take this back outside to the front tables and they will get you taken care of."

"Thanks," I whispered as I started my journey back down the same hallway I'd stood in for two hours.

I breeched the outside doors to return to the massive crowd outside, but the plaza was empty. I was expecting to return to a massive crowd of waiting entrants, even though I knew that plenty of time had passed to get everyone signed in. I punched a hole in my blue slip with a cheap Bic pin, threaded through a flimsy swatch of twine, and tied the lanyard around my neck.

"Finally, I am a validated delegate." I thought to myself as I turned to walk through the double glass doors.

(continued ...)