The Wesley Community Center was located on a 10th Street cul-de-sac. The November sun was slowly sinking behind the distant horizon, hinting at another magical Arizona sunset. Juan had already been there several times today and cheerfully greeted his haggard co-workers. They instructed him to wait in the queue for his turn at one of the colorful red, white, and blue voting booths he’d delivered that morning.
“Excuse me, sir,” an irritated-looking woman confronted Juan as he attempted to get in line. “The end is back there,” she pointed towards the door.
Juan searched for the place she indicated. “Where, outside?”
She nodded and pointed. Juan walked past the rows of people clustered tightly in the main hall and followed the line outside. People were lined up all the way to the parking lot. With a sigh, he trudged to the end.
As he joined the long line outside the polling station, Juan couldn’t help but notice some of his fellow voters murmuring their discontent. He struck up a conversation with the man in front of him. “I just got my citizenship, and this is my first time voting. Is it always like this?”
“No,” the man shook his head, and some other people standing nearby seemed to agree. “The line is never this long. Something’s going on. Look.” He pointed to where a news van was parked, its tall aluminum boom extended high above it with communication gear attached.
When he finally made it back inside the community center, there was a palpable atmosphere of unease. Reporters and cameramen jostled for position as they arrived, their lenses trained on a tense discussion developing between a tiny, wizened lady Juan recognized as Sarah O'Neill, the Team Lead for the Wesley polling station, and an angry-looking man wearing a bright red baseball cap. A pistol was prominently displayed in a holster on his hip.
"Excuse me, sir," the Team Lead’s name was Sarah O’Neill, and she was clearly overwhelmed, but there was also a spark of fire in her eyes. “Let me be perfectly clear. We are not limiting access to this facility based on party affiliation. You are not allowed to have that gun in here.”
The man in the red ballcap began to object when two Maricopa County Sheriffs arrived. An officer approached him, “Time to go.” he announced.
The policemen kept watching the gun and positioned themselves to have a clear shot if they needed to take one.
The man held up both hands, "Officer, Arizona is an open carry state. I have every legal right to be here."
"Sir, you are not allowed to carry within 1,000 feet of K-12 school campuses, Native American reservations, businesses that serve alcohol, or polling locations on Election Day."
For a moment, the man stood his ground. He looked over at a woman filming him with her phone. "Are you getting this?" he asked.
The Sheriff reached to his belt for a set of handcuffs. “I’m not going to ask you again, sir,” he said menacingly.
"You're trying to kick me out illegally," the man challenged boldly, as if he hadn't even heard the Sheriff's warning. Juan noticed that he kept his hands prominently raised in the air. You're violating my Second Amendment rights!"
The first Sheriff arrested him and escorted him outside to the waiting police car.
"You too," the second Sheriff addressed the reporters. "You'll all have to take this outside." He swiftly ushered the reporters and cameramen outside to a chorus of shouted questions.
Once the building was cleared, O’Neil gasped in relief.
"Everything's gonna be OK now," Juan tried to reassure her.
Ms. O’Neill nodded., but she seemed numb and shaky as she made her way back to her office.