Early in the day, there was an incident.  The Poll Inspector suddenly appeared with a middle-aged blonde in tow who was incensed.  I could tell because she was screaming and her face was contorted.  I’ll refer to them as PI and AMAB and I’ll be ME.

AMAB:  (Yelling) That car has no right to be in the handicap spot.  It is illegally parked.

ME:  (Thinking I’ll bet she’s just mad because of the big-ass Doug Jones sign which might have been taped to the car by some Doug Jones volunteers.)

ME:  (Out loud)  There’s an empty spot right next to that car where you can park.

AMAB: Well, it wasn’t empty a minute ago when I drove around.

PI:  How do you know it’s illegally parked?

AMAB:  Because it doesn’t have a placard.  And there wasn’t a spot a minute ago when I drove past and that car can’t be parked there.  I have to bring my mother to vote and she’s handicapped.  (Her mother wasn’t with her.)

ME:  That car has a placard.

PI:  It does?  How do you know?

ME:  Because it’s MY car.

PI TO AMAB:  She’s handicapped and has a right to park there.

AMAB:  Well, I don’t care if she’s handicapped, that car needs to be moved or I’m calling the police.  She can’t park there all day while she sits here.

ME:  I’ll be happy to move the car.

PI:  You don’t have to move the car.  (Leaving, turns to me and mouths “I’m sorry”.)

AMAB:  (Screaming) I am coming back and that car better be gone when I get back.

Well, to say I was taken aback is putting it mildly.  As soon as I saw her drive off, I walked to my car, turned it and the heater on until a parking spot opened up nearby and reparked.  Getting out to walk back, it occurred to me that the woman hadn’t seen the sign on the car until she was leaving the polling place, and that in fact it wasn’t visible to anyone coming in unless they deliberately turned their head to see it.  I did the only thing I could possibly do, and with a sigh I pulled the sign and tape away from the car.   I carried it up to my chair and planted it in the grass next to me where it would be visible to anyone coming in to vote.  What else could I do?

From that point on, I heard from many people, all the way from the man who muttered disgustedly as he passed by that he ought to kick that mot*er fuc*ing sign to the ground, to the nice people who would stop to chat with me and suggest that I really ought to call the police about that sign, since it was illegal.  (It wasn’t, it was well past the 30-foot boundary that the law provides for.)  I just smiled in seeming sympathy and explained that I’d already spoken with the sheriff and that it was perfectly legal.

I had by that time established a relationship with that same sheriff, who had been out to chat with me several times during the day.  He had been standing in the doorway when the Poll Inspector walked outside with the screaming AMAB.

Time went on and various comments were made, from people asking why I hadn’t brought my spray paint to suggestions of illegality, etc., etc.

What I didn’t know until the end of the day was that the woman filed a formal complaint against me.  One of the problems with that, though, was she filed the complaint with the mayor.  At some point in the afternoon he came to the polling station and “investigated” the matter with the sheriff and the Poll Inspector.  Thanks to the guidebook which had told me to establish relationships with the poll workers, they had my back; in addition, they and the people around them informed the mayor that I had been polite, respectful, and had moved my car, even though I really hadn’t had to do so.  In addition, I hadn’t done anything but receive a threat.

We all had a good laugh about it at the end of the day, but I’ll confess I’m glad I hadn’t known that she had gone to the mayor, as I would have worried about it all day long.  The kicker?  She never brought her mother back to vote.  I’m thinking she was just too embarrassed to come back after she took her medication, bless her heart.

My day officially ended at 7:45 p.m. when the final numbers were posted on the door.  I grabbed my big Doug Jones sign, zipped to my car and was on the road in a jiff to go to Anniston, where friends and others were attending a poll-watching party.  I don’t need to tell you that there was some serious anxiety going on when I got there which turned to joyful celebration shortly after.  The sad reality, though, is that whites voted in overwhelming numbers for Roy Moore.  Once again, PoC, and especially black women, did the heavy lifting that got Doug Jones elected, and thank God for them.  They may have helped to save the country.