Early voting in NC occurred on the third Thursday prior to election day. I took that day off, just to show how serious I was. I’d planned to stop by the post office to pick up stamps and then park at the rec center, which was just next door, to vote.
As I pulled up into the nearly full post office parking lot, I mentally prepared myself to stand in a long line, followed by another long line in order to vote. When I entered the post office, I was pleasantly surprised to see only three other customers. Two were already being helped.
One of the postal workers, a Black woman, inadvertently gave me a clue as she complained to her coworker, another Black woman. She voiced her opinion that the police should enforce the parking rules and make early voters park somewhere else.
I just smiled inwardly. Now that I knew there was probably no parking at the rec center, I bought my stamps, put them in my car and walked over to the rec center, joining the long line that would eventually take me about three hours to transverse into a voting booth.
Initially, I was about to stroll past the tail end of the snaking line to enter the side door, where I had previously entered several times before in much smaller elections. Thankfully, I caught myself in time to not cause a scene.
Three hours took its toll on my back, but not my spirits, especially since I listened to the audiobook, Our Hidden Conversations by Michelle Norris, to keep me company. This powerful book about race, shared both the six-word sentences, sent either by postcard or electronically, and described different people’s view of race/racism, with many deep dives into the narratives behind the six-word statements.
That put me into a certain frame of mind as I noticed that most voters in line were people of color with white-appearing people being the minorities. Even the campaigners and poll workers were mostly POC.
Although I wasn’t as hypervigilant as I had been in 2020, with COVID adding to the intensity, I was still more aware of my surroundings than normal when out in public and felt comforted to see other POC exercising their civic duty.
Another reason I didn’t mind the long wait was because my ancestors and allies had endured far worse than standing in a peaceful, slow-moving line in order to vote and secure the rights of others to vote. I didn’t have to pay a poll tax, answer any impossible questions nor any other forms of intimidation.
I hate to even think like this, but I also didn’t have to worry about people purging my name since they couldn’t guess my ethnicity through reading my name.
Inevitably, my eyes landed on two young Black men way ahead of me with towering Afros. They’d given their hair an extra good picking to fluff it out to the limits of its full glory. One had an Afro puff ponytail, while the other had a larger-than-life Afro. The latter sported khakis with a tan suit coat. I presumed they were brothers. They could have been friends.
Nearly three hours later, they were at a voting kiosk, which was divided into four private compartments, catercorner to one another. Despite the additional privacy walls, their beautiful hair loomed over.
Once I entered the rec center lobby, I saw that a senior aerobic class had started at 11 AM. I was proud that they kept moving and was envious of their retirement. The way things sit right now, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to retire although I voted for the candidates who I believed would give me the best chance of living out my golden years in peace and safety.
After working my way to the table to verify myself and receive my ballot, a woman told me to take my time. I just smiled and nodded. I’d studied the candidates ahead of time, using my sample ballot. I zoomed through my selections, freeing up my booth for my fellow voter to occupy.
A huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Now, I trust there are enough motivated, like-minded citizens who will vote along similar lines. No matter what, we all have to endure the political ads.