5 December 2016. The long Constitutional Referendum ends. The no wins, Renzi resigns and the Italians return to worry about the football championship and the next edition of Big Brother.
But there is a category that still thinks about ballots, yes and no and elections on Monday morning: tellers.
That of the scrutineer is a long and exhausting job, with marathons worthy of the best Enrico Mentana.
The selection
The teller is a bit like a superhero: he doesn't know he is until called into question. But who decides who will be the teller? The Sect of Shadows, after having examined all the candidates and subjected to tests of courage, chooses with the ancient and noble method of the coin. For a still mysterious reason, it often happens to see the same tellers for years. But from the upper floors they swear by the randomness of the selection.
On Saturday
The chosen few meet the day before the elections. Objective: to understand who will go to get coffee the next day. The characteristic of this day lies in the faces of the individual members who are divided into two groups: those who are happy and smiling because they are called to act as tellers. Those sad and depressed because called to be the tellers.
Election day
Appointment on Sunday morning at 6. Because yes, there is 6 on Sunday morning.
Once the entire seat has been assembled, voting begins. Punctual like Bublè's single under Christmas, the old lady enters at 6.59 to vote: "Am I the first?""Yes madam, but you have not won anything ».
The day continues slowly, with moments of cosmic emptiness alternating with real parades of voters. Inevitable, every 4 voters, the gentleman who asks the most hateful question to ask in a polling station: "turnout? " Here you wonder how it can change his day knowing the turnout at 9 in the morning, but you are too tired to think and shoot random numbers.
After lunch, the first under 70s and over 70s are presented with amaro montenegro or limoncello. A joy, especially when they fail to post the card.
In the afternoon, between an incorrect projection and a red bull, the first debates begin between the representatives and the voters who have the afternoon off. The clock is ticking slowly, 23pm is still a long way off.
Every 10 voters one is presented with the ballot now full. You invite him to go to the City for the replacement, but he starts insulting you and threatening not to vote. You make him understand that nothing changes for you, but he is impassive, capricious like a 4-year-old child.
Between 21 pm and 23 pm, those who remembered the elections come: "But then do I have to put an X?"And automatically answer"Well, if you want you can also do a portrait».
After 14 hours you start spraying acidity like a fountain. But we're almost there.
I strip it
At 23pm the bell rings. Game over, no more voting, but punctually in the cabin there is always the one who has to stand out: "Am I the last? " "Yes sir, but you haven't won anything."
Counting ballots, representatives threatening to blow themselves up if you don't consider the ballot valid, minutes that never end. You're tired, you want to sleep, but you can't. You have to count, you can't go wrong. You start with one, you suddenly arrive at 874. "Guys we are not there, a card is missing! " You have to recount, then you discover that someone had written wrong and there was no card missing. Cursed!
Prepare the envelopes to be delivered which, for the uninitiated, are about 30. Each must contain one thing in particular.
It takes you a lifetime, you sign so many of those papers that you now only put an X. While you are doing it, the night owl enters asking you for projection and result. You mumble something that resembles an ancient Aramaic curse.
Closed envelopes, you have to go. You go home (in some cases it is already daytime), turn on the TV and hear the good news: no winner, we go to the ballot in two weeks.
Close everything, you go to sleep and this time you exclaim a clear and neat blasphemy in ancient Aramaic!
