I worked yesterday at the local polling booth and realised I'm starting to feel my age. At the end of the day, I was hobbling like an old man, back and knees aching and brain in lockdown. I blame all the hopefuls who put their hands up to try for a seat in the Senate. The ballot paper, therefore, becomes so unwieldy that it has to be sorted and counted on the floor, no place for a 73 year old with dodgy knees and a hip replacement.
At the end of a very long day, the OIC asked if anyone of us was weary. I was just about to open my mouth to express my feelings, when she reminded us that the answer was No. If we had said Yes, she would have been obliged to send us home in a taxi! Occupational Health and Safety and Duty of Care gone mad.
Dilston is a small polling place with just 8 booths and 2 people handing out ballot papers. However, we still had the stalwarts outside, handing out How to Vote cards. The first of them arrived at 6 in the morning to hang up his banners and he was still there when we shut the doors at 6 in the evening. The oldest volunteers were, as is often the case, representing The Greens. It may be the party most supported by the youth, but the hard yards are being run by their grannies and grand-dads.
When I look now at the mess we're left with after all out hard work, I wonder whether I would have been better to stay in bed. I feel my efforts are only encouraging them. Still, the wages I earned will fund the Thailand to Malaysia leg of our big trip at the end of the years.
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