Wednesday, November 20, 2002
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Wednesday, November 20, 2002 |
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Election day nightmare: 'Insufficient memory' By SALLIE SATTERTHWAITE Me? Favor low tech over high? I can be a real snob when I hear people say they can't be bothered with learning to use a computer. Good grief, when they find out how computers can enrich their lives, they'll wonder how they could have remained a troglodyte so long. But on Election Day, I was ready to take technology and ... Never mind. First let me tell you, I work with a great team of poll workers. Because we were going to be using the touch-screen computers for the first time, nearly every one of them took more training than the county required. We were trained well and comprehensively, logging as much as six hours to become completely comfortable with the new machines. We all came to work 45 minutes earlier than we usually do to be absolutely sure we had each machine started up and ready for the voters. By 7 a.m., we had about a dozen people in line. The first voter verified that each machine read zero votes, and we were off, feeling smug and confident that everything was going to go well. And twice, early in the day, technicians from the county office dropped by to see if we had any problems. Of course not, I dismissed them breezily. Computerized voting was a snap, and I had a competent crew of poll workers. We were busy all day. The voters loved the machines. I asked most of them as they exited: "Well, what did you think?" To a person, they answered affirmatively. Until about 4:30. At about 4:30, a school teacher had started the process of bringing up her ballot on the screen when the screen froze. Within seconds, the man next to her turned around and said, "Mine, too." The "insufficient memory" message on the screen was like nothing we had encountered during training, and a quick flip through the manual revealed no such scenario. Oh well, I thought, we can get along with three machines, but headed for the telephone to ask the county to send a tech around now that I had something for him to do. Their telephone lines were overwhelmed, and I held, and held, and held. Except for other poll workers coming to tell me the remaining three machines had crashed like dominoes, I had plenty of time to think. When your PC acts up, often just rebooting will fix the problem, although at the expense of data not saved. But I could remember no assurance that the votes already in the computer would be saved if we rebooted them. And believe me, I was committed to do nothing that would delete ballots already cast by approximately 520 voters who had entrusted their most precious right to those machines. Meanwhile, of course, homeward-bound voters, many wet from the day's rain, all tired and hungry, were flooding into our polling place. They were incredibly patient and understanding with us. My workers borrowed chairs from an adjacent room, and we seated as many as we could. Little did we know that a similar scene was being played out all over the county. When the 101st to 105th voter in every precinct was bringing up his ballot, machines locked up from lack of RAM. Many of them already had a tech in the room, some had got in the telephone queue before I did, and a few had the guts I lacked: They shut down the machines and restarted them without losing a single vote. Finally, one of my assistant managers who is a master gardener thought there would still be someone in the Extension Office next door to the Elections Office. He called them, explained our predicament, and asked them to walk next door to tell our tale of woe. Within 15 minutes, a technician appeared, assured me we wouldn't lose a ballot if we rebooted, and we were back in business. Most of the 80 to 90 people waiting were understanding about it, but there were, of course, a few who left indignantly. Whereas with the old system we rarely had a voter still in line at 7 p.m., closing time, this time it took until 7:20 to get everyone in and out. And whereas I usually had things wrapped up and delivered back to Fayetteville by 8 o'clock, it was 9 this time. My numbers did not check out another first for me probably because a couple of voters left without telling us, and their names were already entered as voters. The whole event left me wondering if we hadn't applied technology to the wrong end of the process. Voters still have to fill out paper work, I.D.s still have to be checked and addresses verified, long lists maintained all of which could be done with an electronic voter registration card. The slowest part of the process is signing in, not voting. My friend who reported on voting in Alabama clucked sympathetically when I told her about our snafu. Maybe low tech is better, she offered. People just sit down at a long cafeteria table. For those who wish to use them, there's one privacy screen at each table, but she didn't see anyone using it. Like she said, there's not much chance of messing up paper ballots and ordinary pencils. "The only thing workers here had to worry about was that 10 pencil tips would break off at the same time and a line would form at the sharpener," she said. Sigh. Never thought I'd yearn for the technological past.
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