There are a couple of areas in NYC where it’s common to hear or see a last name like Uzarski. I have never lived in one of those areas.
Because of this, voting is complicated.
Today, the woman at the front desk sent me to the wrong district’s table. So I went back and checked with her again, and she said, “I told you! You are in the 30th district!”
When I went back to the 30th district, the poll worker said for a second time, “What is your name?”
I responded, “Uzarski. Spelled U-Z-A-R-S-K-I.”
The woman responded, “Oh Lord! What is your first name?”
I told her “April”, and she started looking in the A section until another poll worker yelled at her. “It’s U! It would never be under A!”, she said.
So I just gave her my ID.
I wasn’t on the list in the 30th district, and I had given up with the woman at the front desk, so I just tried all the tables.
Finally, the young adults manning the 33rd district’s table found my name quickly, and got me on my way.
This happens every time I vote in NYC, in every neighborhood I have lived in. I say my last name, and people have a heart attack.
I guess my name is just too much for the rest of the world to handle.