An Incomplete List of the People You Meet While Voting

The first-timer, part 1 — the new adult. Their 18th birthday was a month ago, or maybe they just missed voting the last time around. This is the first time they’ve gotten to vote, and they are almost inevitably in line with their parents or their friends. They’re excited. They’re nervous. They’re ready.

The first-timer, part 2 — the new citizen. Not born here, but sworn here and for the first time getting to have a voice in who will speak for them.

The first-timer, part 3 — the new voter. Something about this year or one of the candidates or something else entirely has gotten them to the polling place for the first time. Changing behavior is hard. This is to be celebrated.

The person at the wrong polling location, peering at my phone and telling me that they thought they could choose any of the early voting locations, and then determinedly hailing a cab to go to Madison Square Garden because that’s where they have to go to vote today.

The line captains, working their way down the line, giving the same speech, again and again, directing people to the accessible line or the correct polling place or to social distance a little better or to make sure their mask is covering their nose. Sometimes they have a bullhorn. It doesn’t save their voice.

The volunteer with the pizza — pepperoni, in my case, and delicious. There are piles of pizza boxes on the stairs by the entrance, evidence of the sheer volume of people that it takes to make up American democracy.

The person who loans you her phone charger and holds your spot in line while you run into a store to use their outlet — yes, this happened to me. Bless you, kind voting line buddy, for saving my battery and therefore my ability to join work calls while standing in line.

The person who circles the block thanking everyone who is waiting in line for voting — “You’re making a difference” they say. “Thank you for being here. Thank you for waiting.”

The person who is suddenly realizing that this is not the end of the line — it’s the corner, and the line is hours long — and the way their shoulders slump and then square up firmer than before as they head down the street along the line and find their place in it.

The person who lives nearby, bringing coffee and a snack to their friend in the line and sticking around to chat with the rest of us.

The person with a book — the line is long, the time will pass, they might as well pass it doing something interesting.

The person doing their candidate research on their phone while in line — a fairly large number of us, honestly, and there’s quite a lively discussion about the best sources of information.

The people with their “I voted” stickers on, walking back along the line, reassuring you that you’re almost there, that all you have to do is just stay in line and you’ll make it, no problem.

Me — RBG tribute shirt hidden under a plain sweatshirt because there are rules about what you can wear in a polling place, in line for 4 hours, taking work calls on Houston Street while the yellow cabs blow their horns in encouragement to the people in line. Becoming the person reassuring others that they’re almost there, that all they have to do is just stay in line and they’ll make it, no problem.

You — in line with me, or with your mom, or with your friends, or dropping your ballot off at the absentee box or heading to the post office. Voting, in whatever way works best for you.

Democracy only works when we do. Election Day is Tuesday. I look forward to adding you to this list — and if you met someone who’s not on this list, tell us about them in the responses!

A friendly reminder — people going to extremes to vote despite long lines, a lack of polling places and ballot drop off points, and restrictions on how people can vote is not heartwarming, it’s voter suppression. Let’s do better. Democracy means all of us.