I’m a Democrat Poll Worker in Texas — I Feel Like a Blueberry in a Bowl of Tomato Soup

A few words to my fellow election clerks and voters

I live in Comal County, Texas, a blood-red county in a traditionally blood-red state. There are enclaves of blue in the sea of red — -unfortunately, Comal County isn’t one of them. This is a place where people whisper “I’m a Democrat, too” and are reluctant to put Biden signs in their yards or Dem stickers on their cars for fear of retaliation. Trump Trains parade through towns and neighborhoods weekly, honking, harassing, and intimidating people of color and anyone who holds a different point of view. Local law enforcement stands by with their hands in their pockets.

I volunteered to be an election clerk in the 2020 general election because I wanted to contribute in some small way to this critical process. Polling places in Comal County closed this summer during the primary run-off election because poll workers, many of whom are senior citizens, wouldn’t work without safety protocols in place. I didn’t want that to happen again. Voting in Texas is hard enough as it is.

Governor Abbott — following orders from his depraved party leader and mega-donors — decided not to make masks mandatory during election season, consequently, neither voters nor poll workers are required to wear masks. The unmasked Comal County Elections Coordinator who conducted my training session made it abundantly clear that they would remove me from my post if I asked voters to cover their faces.

“Personal responsibility” is the mantra in Texas. Individual rights trump the collective good.

With all the tension surrounding this election and scary media reports of armies of chanting Trump supporters showing up at polling stations, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Thankfully, all was calm during the three weeks of early voting at my assigned locations. That has not been the case in Dallas and Houston.

I took an oath not to obstruct or influence the voting process. I kept my political opinions to myself and did all I could to guard the purity of the election. Now that I am outside that environment there are a few things I’d like to get off my chest:

To my fellow masked election clerks: Thank you for caring enough about my health to wear a mask. We spend hours together in small, windowless, airless rooms and despite our best efforts to socially distance it isn’t always possible. You protect me; I protect you.

To the unmasked election clerks who flaunt unfettered faces proudly and repel my polite attempts to reason with you: Bless Your Heart and Aren’t You Precious. Anyone who has spent time in the South understands that ‘bless your heart’ is not a compliment: it means that you are a pitiful idiot too dumb to know better. Same goes for ‘aren’t you precious!’

To the unmasked voters who clearly don’t give a shit about my health or the health of anyone around you: I get up at 5 o’clock every morning, drive for 30 minutes in the pitch dark on winding two-lane country roads, praying that a deer won’t jump in front of my car, so I can give you the chance to vote (I’m guessing) to keep an incompetent, unfit, morally bankrupt POS in the White House. Is wearing a mask for 30 seconds really too much for you?

To the eager 18-year-old, first-time voters who stand in front of my plexiglass shield with their moms and grin sheepishly when I announce “we have a first-time voter here!” so everyone can look at you and hoot and holler and clap: bless you for voting.

To the 83-year-old woman who admitted she was a first-time voter: bless you for voting.

To the pregnant Latina with her husband who recently took his Oath of Citizenship, proud and nervous about casting his vote for the first time as an American citizen: bless you for voting. You are my hero.

To the voters sporting a Trump or MAGA mask, hat, pin, shirt, bandana, belt buckle, or boot trying to breeze past the NO ELECTIONEERING sign posted on the entrance door: I am happy to ask you to remove it before you step over the threshold. I don’t care if you end up buck naked, you aren’t coming inside wearing it.

(Side note: I did not see a single piece of Biden or Vote Blue paraphernalia trying to get past me)

To the voter who called me racist for asking to see your photo ID, just as I had asked hundreds of people before you: no ID, no vote. If you have a problem with that you are welcome to call the Governor and take it up with him.

To the voter who bellowed, “I’ve been a Republican my whole life but I’m not voting for any of those sons of bitches this time!” while looking directly at this posted sign — KEEP YOUR POLITICAL OPINIONS TO YOURSELF WHILE VOTING: thank you, sir. You made my week.

To the voters who gratefully thank us for volunteering: I am happy to do it. Thank you for voting!

It’s anyone’s guess what election day will look like at the polls. I hope the worst-case scenarios don’t materialize. I can’t control any of that. All I know is that I will show up, do my job with a smile you won’t see, and make the experience as pleasant and painless as possible.

I hope you show up for democracy, too. Wear your I VOTED sticker with pride.

You may enjoy these stories about other moments in Texas.

Susan Randolph is a nutrition coach happily writing, eating, and cooking in the beautiful Texas Hill Country.