I heard —what show, about what state, I dunno— on the teebee the other day claim that the average age of poll workers in this country is 72. Their ranks have been augmented by one in California:

On Super Tuesday, I will join thousands of other volunteers across the state and serve as an election clerk for the primary. I’ve been assigned to work at the Women’s Club of Hollywood, which is not my polling place but is close enough to home that I can ride my bike there.

Or maybe not. My bike — it has a basket. My basket — it has two bumper stickers. They read: “Peace Out Bush” and “Defend America: Fire the Republicans.” Another rule comes to mind: No electioneering within 100 feet of the polls. I will lock my bike to something that is 101 feet away.

The really sweet part is down towards the end, talking about going to Nevada in ’04 to work for Kerry. It’s late and she’s tired:  Read more 

Voting on the old dinosaur machines in Pennsylvania and other places had its flaws, but there was one part they made helpfully stupid-proof. After you pulled the little levers to register your vote in each race, you pulled a BIG lever that opened the curtain and allowed you out of the booth. That lever was what officially “cast” your votes into the little counters inside the machine. Very 1930s-ish technology but (unless the damn machine threw a shoe, or tossed a wire off a pulley which they were prone to do, trapping you inside and causing a hysterical call for a repairman) it worked.  Read more