You know you’re probably a little odd when you develop a case of Voting Experience Envy.

For me, voting had always been a simplistic and straight-forward experience. I always knew in advance who I was going to vote for, and on the big day it took no longer than twenty minutes to complete the entire process – including travel time. I’d just rock-up to one of the local primary schools, walk in and get it over with. No muss, no fuss.

I’d just assumed that was the way everyone else did it too. And we all know what happens when you assume something…

It came up in conversation one day at work in the weeks leading up to an election. One colleague complained of the long queues they always encountered at the polling station, and the ponderous time spent waiting for their turn. Another colleague agreed, saying that was why she now took the option to vote on an earlier day, thus avoiding the situation as much as possible.

As I stood there listening with interest, I kept thinking ‘Could it really be that bad? Are they just exaggerating?’ Sure, I live and vote in the outer western suburbs where the population isn’t as dense – but wouldn’t the Electoral Commission just set up more booths and polling stations in those electorates closer to the city? Was I only ever voting at off-peak times?

Thankfully, the conversation wasn’t all negative. Another colleague, Matt, said that he’d always enjoyed his voting experiences. Along with his flatmates, he had a tradition of ‘going for a vote and some lunch’ and making an afternoon of it. The school at which he voted always held a sausage sizzle and a fund-raising raffle for a local sporting team or kids’ group. After performing their democratic duty, Matt and his friends would head on over to the local pub for a few drinks.

Now, this was starting to sound more like a party! All it needed was a beer garden in the sun and a footy game on the TV to be a perfect Saturday afternoon.

As the voting experience stories kept flowing I started to think about what I was missing out on and what I could do about it. The next few weeks passed, and when Election Day came I did my best to try and savour the experience this time around. I slowed down my voting process and dragged it out for as long as I could – reading through the how-to-vote cards I’d been handed, and even going to the trouble of numbering all the 150+ boxes below the line on the senate form. Ultimately, it didn’t make a difference. The process was still over quickly, and any satisfaction that could possibly have been derived from completing all those preferential votes was negated by the knowledge that somewhere around the 40^th preference it had become a game of random selection.

Short of moving to another electorate, was this to be the extent of my voting experience? Was I doomed to be eternally envious of the memorable time enjoyed by others? Damn it, where was my sausage sizzle!

Turns out, all I needed was a friend to get involved in the world of politics and ask me for a favour. Well, technically he had to ask me twice.

You see, while I may vote predominantly for one party over the others, I’d like to think that I’m the type of person who votes for whoever is genuinely the best candidate. I’ll probably never consider joining a political party, whether it’s because it would be hard to find a party that shared all of my various views, or because (as Groucho Marx once said) I wouldn’t want to join any club that would have me as a member.

So this friend of mine (who, for the purposes of this story, we shall call Mr A) had been getting involved with local politics for a few years, and was now running on the ticket for the local council elections. He asked if I’d be willing to help out on Election Day by handing out how-to-vote cards at a polling station.

Here’s where I felt conflicted. I said I’d be happy to vote for him, as I knew he’d do a good job if elected. I’d even be happy to do a letterbox drop of some campaign material. The issue was that I wouldn’t feel right standing around wearing a shirt for a party that I didn’t support. I’d feel like a hypocrite and an impostor.

You know someone is a genuine friend when they can be given that response and be okay with it. Sure, a little disappointed, but respectful of my stance and not going to let it affect our friendship.

Election Day came and Mr. A was successful in his bid for a spot on the council, going on to serve the community well. By the time that term on council ended, Mr A now had a Mrs A in his life and decided not to contest the next election. Being a good party man and friend, Mr A would still be involved in the upcoming campaign by supporting his mentor on Election Day; coordinating the support at one of the local polling stations.

This is when the call for assistance once again came my way.

I was going to be at work (and earning some nice overtime) for the first half of the day, but Mr A asked if I could possibly help out in the afternoon and hand out how-to-vote cards. Anticipating my response to be similar to the last time he’d asked, he dropped a key piece of information. Due to internal party issues, no candidates in our electorate were being endorsed by the party – meaning that they would now be required to run as independents, and thus bypass my main objections to the task. I wouldn’t have to wear a t-shirt supporting one political party or another; only the name of the candidate would be emblazoned across it.

I still felt a little guilty about saying no the last time the request came, so how could I say no now? Tipping the scales further towards the affirmative was the knowledge that Mr & Mrs A would be the only two people for their candidate manning that particular polling station all day. What kind of friend would I be to say no this time?

So it was a yes from me, and that Saturday I left work and drove down to the local primary school that was to be the scene of my brief ‘career’ in politics. After casting my own vote, I emerged and put on the t-shirt provided. Immediately I felt like a big idiot for saying no the last time. It was just like acting – you just put on the uniform, give your best smile and ‘fake it ‘til you make it’.

When I first became eligible to vote I was one of those people who would always refuse to take any handouts on my way into the polling station. I tried not to be rude about it – always doing my best to give a polite ‘no thanks’ when offered something – but always felt as if my time was being wasted, not to mention all that paper. I knew who I wanted to vote for, so why waste my time with all this ephemera?

But as the years passed, my attitude changed.

I came to sympathise with those brave and stalwart individuals who appeared to have enough political belief and conviction to stand around outside a polling station all day to support their chosen candidate or party, facing rejection and rudeness, or just being ignored. Instead of saying ‘no’ all the time, I realised it was both easier and less awkward to take the handouts when offered, smile politely or say thanks, and just dump the lot of them into the recycling bin on my way out. Once, on what must have been a particularly good day, I even returned them to the relevant individuals as I walked back to my car. And you know what? It felt good, as if I was bringing a little ray of sunshine to those brave folks.

And so, as I pulled on the t-shirt and joined their ranks (however temporarily), I felt myself cross that line from observer to participant – ready to embrace the experience as it happened.

It was a sunny afternoon, and as I took my position outside the school gates I glanced over at the friendly competition to see if they too were enjoying the sunshine. Thankfully, most of these political operatives seemed to know how to play nicely with others. Everyone had found a spot from which to support their candidate, and didn’t try to interfere with the others. Every now and then you’d hear a bit of grumbling from one party about a candidate from another, but it was always short-lived and more amusing then anything else. Take this quick exchange of banter, for example:

“Vote for John Smith, he really makes a difference.”

“Makes a percentage, is more like it.”

Our little team had decided that a ‘three-pronged attack’ would work best, which was just as well, as there were only three of us. I liked to think of it as a triangulation of fire to catch any strays that attempted to escape the gauntlet. One person on the path either side of the school gate to service the pedestrians, with the third person working in front of the entrance to service those approaching the target head-on.

As it turns out, there are many ways to avoid being handed how-to-vote cards.

A common technique used is the old ‘invisibility trick’, where the voter in question will approach the gate as if nobody can see them, avoiding any eye contact and ignoring all noise and activity around them. It’s quite effective most of the time, and highly comical if they break character halfway through.

Keeping your hands firmly in your pockets is a popular choice. After all, you can’t hand something to a person if they don’t have any hands. One gentleman had obviously used this technique several times, as he gave me a cheeky smile as he strode past with his hands glued into his pants. Now that I think about it, that smile might have been about something else…

Using props is another favourite of some voters, with the mobile phone being the choice du jour. When I encountered one these people I hoped they would be ‘on the phone’ only to have an actual call come through, but sadly my luck was out that afternoon. Holding your child’s hand or pushing a stroller were equally effective prop options, if somewhat lacking in comedic potential.

Every now and then you will be fortunate enough to encounter a ‘lovely individual’ who resents the whole process and chooses to use the ‘blunt and rude’ option, even going so far as to verbally abuse a volunteer. Manners might not cost anything, but sometimes there seems to be a shortage of supply. Thankfully, this group was very much in the minority on my day of service.

Overall, the most common technique of avoidance is the polite refusal. A simple “no thanks” can go a long way to making the whole process easier for everyone. It’s an easy equation – if you say you don’t want one, we won’t give you one.

After a while I could start to tell from a distance if a person would be the type to take a handout. It’s a combination of recognising the above techniques and just using your instincts. In the end, though, it seemed that the majority of people were willing to take the handouts. It’s as if most of us decided that we know the drill by now, so why complicate it by being difficult. It is so much easier to just take the information, smile, and then recycle them once past the gate. Nobody gets offended, and we can all carry on believing we’re doing our part to perpetuate the democratic process.

Before I knew it, my three hours of voluntary servitude had past and I was once again a free man. The polls had closed, we’d packed up our gear, and I relinquished the team jersey. Mr A thanked me for helping out, and invited me to come to the ‘thank you’ party the candidate was hosting that evening as the votes were being counted. I thanked him, but politely declined. Having been on the receiving end of it all afternoon, it felt like the thing to say.

In the end, the candidate I was ‘supporting’ was re-elected, and went on to become Mayor. Not a bad result for my brief time in the world of politics, I’m sure you’d agree.

So, did the experience change me? Have I become more politically active in my local community? Well, no, I haven’t. To me there will probably always be a divide between the ‘game’ of politics and the actual ‘getting stuff done for the people’ that doesn’t make the headlines. I hope that will change in the future, but for only one thing is for sure: on the next Election Day I’ll happily take any handouts offered to me, regardless of whether or not I have any interest or intention of voting for those candidates. I’ll know that a simple smile or ‘thanks’ from a sometimes jaded cynic like me will make the largely thankless task of those brave individuals on the political frontlines that little bit easier, if only for a fleeting moment.