Election Day, like everything else, is different in New Hampshire. Where I used to live in downtown Oakland, every time I went to vote, the polling place had, at most, one other voter in it. The volunteers seemed so bored, they were desperately happy to see someone, ANYONE, coming in to vote. They'd hand out little stickers as a reward for voting. Not having been rewarded with a sticker for anything since, well, kindergarten, I'd humor them and stick it on my lapel. It did offer a certain childish thrill.
In New Hampshire, the destination of choice for the Free State Project, people take election day seriously. In order to get to my local polling place, I had to run a gauntlet of politicians, contenders, supporters and even kids holding signs, or totem poles of signs, despite the fact that is was a dark and chilly November evening. Many of them had been at it since early this morning when the polls opened. The polling place was bustling with activity. Friendly volunteers directed traffic, and ushered me to a red, white and blue bedecked booth where I voted the old-fashioned way, with a felt-tip pen! Then I went outside and held a sign for a fellow Porcupine who was running for School Board. The mayor strolled around, thanking his supporters and cradling a cute baby in his arms (no, really!). The opponent of the guy for whom I was holding a sign walked by and gave me a dirty look. A group of Porcupines and their girlfriends, some of whom had taken the day off work in order to work at various polling places all day long, whiled away the time by debating the constitutionality of various issues of the day. The obligatory box of Dunkin Donuts was, of course, close at hand.
But the single biggest difference between voting in New Hampshire and voting in the San Francisco Bay Area is that, 15 minutes after the polls closed, I already knew the results of the election! Anyone who was interested was allowed to linger in the polling place (the basement of a church) while a computer quickly tallied up the ballots cast and spit out the results on what looked like a cash register tape. A sharply dressed gentleman then read the results aloud. If I were back in California, I'd need to wait several days while boxes full of "misplaced" ballots were suddenly located, lawsuits were filed, people huffed and puffed for the news cameras, and I'd finally get to find out that most of what/whom I voted for lost anyway. In Manchester there were three issues on this ballot, and I got what I wanted on all three. Of course, this only pertains to my own ward; I'll have to wait for the other wards to get tallied to find out the final results.
The mayoral race was rumored to be close, but several people (including yours truly) gasped audibly when we heard that there was a difference of only ONE vote between the two candidates! Who says your vote doesn't matter??