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maewestside · 8 years ago

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CONFESSIONS OF A POLL WORKER: PART DUH!... by heidi siegmund cuda, aka @maewestside

Monte and I had a week to shoot, cut and print the most important film of our career to date. Piece of cake. That allowed me to have three days to ruminate and be a layabout before putting the script on wax.

Just as I pressed send on the second draft of the third act, I breathed a sigh of relief to Mein Hombre and said, “At least I get to sleep in tomorrow.” Der Hombre, being the better scheduler of we two, says, “Didn’t you volunteer to work the polls tomorrow?”

Fuuuuugh.

My damn pat-tree-uh-tizm always gets the best of me. Blame Mein Blut. A girl like I can’t help it. When you’re raised by Germans you march, work, pay respect to God and country, and try not to be a layabout.

So after four days in a row of four hours of sleep, I dragged my weary bones across “Moorpark Highway” to Holly’s Donuts, everyone in Tujunga Village’s favorite 5 am donut shop. The ladies there are so beloved, they have groupies bringing ‘em gift cards during the holidaze.

I counted out my coin for a baker’s dozen, cuz last time I volunteered, all the loneyhearts came slumming for donuts. This time I was prepared.

Despite strategically volunteering at a precinct four blocks from my home, I still managed to be “o dark 8″ minutes late (donuts!). No matter. We had an ace in the hole in the form of an actor-slash-marine, who had his game so dang tight we knew the day would be a breeze and it was. He’d done seven tours of duty as an election volunteer so we were locked and loaded by 6:45 am in a neighbor’s garage, flag hung, stars to the left, signage visible from all angles and a line of locals thanking us for our service that ensued from start to finish.

We anticipated the brisk pace of the turnout and this time, I was far less nervous than last time, when we were only three gals with no experience. (There’s sposed to be four volunteers, but one of ‘em always seems to be a no-show. It’s L.A., go figger.) We got through my first volunteer sesh but only because two out of three us had gone to training and retained enough partial information to plug in, set up, hang the flag and open the door for the voting business of our great democracy, ailing but on the brink of showing her moxie.

On Tuesday, we volunteers immediately sussed out which side of the political fence we were on, so we agreed to talk about hockey. We had little time to chit chat due to the constant stream of fantastic denizens of Tujunga Village, Studio City and Colfax Meadows, an oasis of kindness. In addition, I quickly ascertained recalling four to six numbers and a street name while flipping myriad pages to find said street name and then lining it out in triplicate required deep focus I do not possess, thus asking neighbors to repeat infinity. (Well done rock and roll, well done). The marine tried to help the troops streamline the process but to no avail. A neighbor, seeing my plight, told me to repeat the address aloud until I found the right page, which worked aces until I hit a big apartment complex and then it was anarchy. But like I always tell ya, people are just so dang nice. They’re just happy someone with a pulse is on deck to ensure their right to vote is recorded for posterity. As per uze, the ballot box went blinky for a spell requiring us to work manually but the actor slash marine was so on point, that an Angel with the County appeared toot sweet and gave us the skinny: “You just turn it on and off five times until it straightens out and flies right.”

Woiked like a charm.

I won’t name names to protect the glamorous but I will tell you that we three volunteers ran out of business cards, as the people of Studio City are the working-class heroes of the industry and they like to help their neighbors. The volunteer to my left was a real estate agent, who used to be in the biz. I made friends with famed environmentalists, met the awesome actor husband of a pal I just had a pitch meeting with; and bro’d down with a fellow Heidi and recognized her as an authentic “Valley Girl.” She then had me meet her swell pop, a lit agent of the baller variety of which I’m perennially in need so we penciled in lunch. I didn’t have any ulterior motives as I had forgotten I’d signed up to work the polls, however, I quickly deduced if ever I was gonna find a neighbor who might have a Jacuzzi to help heal my stiff writer’s bones, this is my opportunity and by midday, I had five pals with Jacuzzis and a date with the retiree set to go to the library for a mindful meditation sesh.

And then I got the sweet and lowdown that I’d scored Social Distorton tickets that night in Ventura, and I had to find a stranger-angel to finish my shift. In walked the stunning wife of a famed cinematagrapher who volunteered to sit in til the bitter end for me.

And just when I thought life couldn’t get any sweeter, a gal named Sarah brought us coffee from Aroma Café… with Almond milk.

God bless America, my home sweet home.

******

Author Heidi Siegmund Cuda and her producing partners Greg Montemurro (4sitevideo.com) and Susan von Seggern are in production on multiple films, documentaries, web and tv series.

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