I had the good fortune
yesterday to sit on a voter registration desk during a federal election.
One is either on the list of eligible voters, or not. If not, registration is pretty basic - one needs a photo id plus one other id with one's name on it. Either or both must have a physical address on it where one actually lives - no box numbers allowed. It's pretty simple, really. Show me where you live and then show me your name one more time. There are variances, but that's basically it.
What tickled me the most was the young adults who came up to register for the first time in order that they could take the form over to the polling station and then register and vote. After they voted, many would walk by my desk and give me a huge grin, or a thumbs up, or both. I happily concurred.
I was also privy to a late-thirties woman who tried to vote with no form of identification whatsoever. Obviously, she departed in order to bring back some identification that would allow her to vote. She returned with her passport, and no other documentation.
Consequently, she was refused again, and she wandered over to the registration desk - yours truly - to give me a tongue-lashing and to try to register with no id. I sent her packing one more time. Unfortunately, it was too close to poll closing for me to see what she would return with next.
I think she was trying to game the system, and probably didn't live anywhere in the area, thus the "no id but my passport" trash talk.
Another basically meaningless maneuver: my dad is the "local party-name-here" bigwig and he says I need this to vote and I'm not leaving until you let me vote. I sent her packing too, and she returned with the appropriate documentation.
God I love having the power.
Today it's back to normal and I'm sitting in front of a filthy compter screen in dirty, urine-stained underwear, pantless and in need of a shave and a shower, and chain-smoking filterless Camels.
There is no justice.