Voting stories
My polling place is some guy's garage. (As is typical of San Francisco, most of the houses in my neighborhood are row houses that front the sidewalk, with garages on the ground floor; the living area is usually a floor above the street.)
I have voted in two different garages, a bakery, and a yoga studio (yes, we are living the stereotype here!) in my current neighborhood. In my last neighborhood, I also voted in someone's garage, and in order to get there, I took the stairs; the hill was so steep there that it wasn't drivable, and the cross-street was a stairway. The garage, with the port-a-potty set up outside and the 100 feet notices taped to neighbors' walls, always both amuses and touches me; it means that someone in my neighborhood has volunteered their home to give people a place to cast their ballots.
I have voted in every single election since I turned 18, and I have never felt a part of something this big. Now to watch the results. *refreshes the usual websites obsessively*
I have voted in two different garages, a bakery, and a yoga studio (yes, we are living the stereotype here!) in my current neighborhood. In my last neighborhood, I also voted in someone's garage, and in order to get there, I took the stairs; the hill was so steep there that it wasn't drivable, and the cross-street was a stairway. The garage, with the port-a-potty set up outside and the 100 feet notices taped to neighbors' walls, always both amuses and touches me; it means that someone in my neighborhood has volunteered their home to give people a place to cast their ballots.
I have voted in every single election since I turned 18, and I have never felt a part of something this big. Now to watch the results. *refreshes the usual websites obsessively*