A few weeks ago, I realize there’s a good chance I won’t be around this year on Election Day (November 5). As much as I love voting in person, I decide to be safe and fill out an online form to get my ballot mailed to me in order to vote early, at home. That part is easy — I use The Citizen’s How to Vote post.
My application is quickly accepted, and a couple of weeks later, a blue and white envelope from the Philadelphia County Board of Elections arrives in my mailbox. I open it to find my paper ballot — featuring everyone I can vote for in this fall’s election, from POTUS to auditor general to local state reps. The ballot is the main ingredient, and it’s in good shape.
But in order to make my vote count, I’ll have to return that ballot by mail or in one of the city’s drop boxes. And, in order to do that, I will need to use both of the enclosed envelopes that come with the ballot. There’s a yellow secrecy envelope and a postage-paid return mailing envelope pre-addressed to Philadelphia County Board of Elections. Problem is, both envelopes are sealed shut.
At first, I think the City Commissioners have outsmarted me. Is there some kind of new-fangled way to slide my ballot into their official compartments? Then, I realize: Nah. My partner has also received his voting materials, opens them, and same thing: Envelopes, already stuck closed.
The mystery shopping commences.
1. The instructions that come with my perfect ballot and defective envelopes list a phone number to call: (215) 686-VOTE (8683). Monday morning at exactly 8am, I call and leave a voicemail.
Note: Phone numbers with words in them are cute, but they are also a pain in the buttocks, especially when one of the letters is “O,” a numeral with an identity crisis because it looks a helluva lot like a zero. Grateful for the real numbers in the parentheses.
2. I wait.
3. The next morning at 10:15am, my phone rings. The words “Public Service” roll across the screen. I step out of a meeting to answer.
4. The person on the other end of the line says she is calling from the City Commissioners’ Office.
Note: Had I not already worked with The Philadelphia Citizen, I would likely have no idea what the City Commissioners’ Office was. It’s a confusing name for the office that runs elections in Philadelphia. Other cities and towns have commissioners, but they usually deal with parks and stuff. Why can’t Philly call our office that handles voting etc. the Elections Office? Or the Voting Office? Or something that remotely denotes their function?
5. The person on the line identifies herself and summarizes my voicemail. She explains my options:
-
-
-
- Option 1: Open the envelopes using a method of my choice — steam, scissors, etc. — insert the ballot, and close the envelopes with Scotch tape, being careful not to tape over the barcode or my name and address, then return it by mail or drop box.
- Option 2: Take my envelopes and ballot to a City Commissioners’ Office, and swap them for functional ones.
- Option 3: Someone I know who also received stuck-shut voting envelopes called the same number, and the person they speak with at the Commissioners’ Office to says they’ll mail them a whole new one.
-
-
6. Because I’m both impatient and slightly paranoid about my vote counting — thanks, conspiracy theorists! — I choose Option 2.
7. Good news: The representative on the phone has already looked up my home address and says there’s a City Commissioners’ satellite office around the corner from where I live. Nice. I could go today — or any weekday from now through November 5 — between 10am and 6pm to get new envelopes and to vote onsite.
8. Bad news: She says while I’m there, I can’t get a new set of envelopes for my partner. Rules.
9. You’re good at this, I tell the person who helped me. Sounds like you’ve done this before. I guess I’m not the only one with stuck-shut voting envelopes.
No, you’re not, she confirms. My office received more than 300 calls about sealed envelopes over the past 24 hours. I think they’ll be getting more calls, because not everyone opens their mail-in ballots immediately.
10. How did this happen? I ask.
Rain, she says.
Hmmm, I think. My envelope wasn’t even damp. It also wasn’t wrinkled in the way paper gets after it’s gotten wet. No matter.
11. At 4:48pm, I walk through the doors of a pop-up City Commissioners’ satellite office I hadn’t noticed before. The guy behind the desk seems to know why I’m there. In order to get new envelopes, I’ll need to get a whole new ballot, he says apologetically.
12. I ask him: How did this happen?
Machine error, he says. That makes more sense, since my envelopes definitely weren’t wet, but also: Damn, how could this happen in a super high-stakes presidential election year?
13. Nice helper guy hands me a form to fill out with my name, address, last four of my Social and driver’s license number. I take a seat, fill out the form, show him my driver’s license, and follow the man in charge’s pointer finger to one of about six representatives sitting in front of computers in a line of cubicles.
14. The rep takes my form, deciphers my handwriting, and asks me to wait while she prints out a new ballot and label for my new mailing envelope.
15. She asks if I want to vote onsite, and shows me to a tall gray desk with privacy sides.
16. I fill in a few ovals, fold my ballot, put it in the yellow envelope, seal it (yuck: licking), put the yellow envelope into the white envelope, which I seal (grody), sign and date where instructed, walk outside, and put that jawn in the green box outside. The whole process takes maybe 15 minutes.
Damn, City Commissioners, for a municipal office with a somewhat terrible name, you’re pretty great at your job!
Lightning Bolt Rating: 
This defective envelope thing — because clearly there are going to be thousands more sealed-shut voting envelopes — could turn out to be a very big deal. Maybe the office is so concerned with mailing and later counting the ballots that they neglected a quality check of their envelope-making machine? Big mistake. Huge.
That said, the fix was on point. The people who helped me could not have been more thorough or more dedicated to their work. They clearly care about the vital role they’re playing in this election. Yay, city workers!
My humble suggestion: Invest in envelopes with strip-removal / sticker closures, not the nasty ones that you have to lick.
Next year, I’ll vote in person if I can, not just because of this minor fiasco, but because I like to push the buttons, get my vote counted faster, and spend the day wearing an “I Voted” sticker with City Hall on it, because wearing an “I Voted” sticker makes me feel superior and I’m shallow like that.
