What do you get when you combine 6,000 Anchorage Democrats in a middle school? Chaos.

A mass of people converged on Begich Middle School for the Democratic caucus Tuesday, and I trudged along pilgrim-like at a few minutes after 6 p.m., determined, despite subzero temperatures and standstill traffic that stretched for miles, to see my first caucus.

Although I missed the age cutoff by two months, the caucus was something I needed to experience. But after running toward the school as my lungs, eyelashes and motivation froze, I had my doubts.

I entered the building, and suddenly the phrase "record voter turnout" was wildly real. People. Everywhere. It was completely unexpected.

West High School senior Taylor Thompson showed me into the multipurpose room where Mayor Mark Begich remarked on the "new faces, young faces" of many in the crowd.

"I didn't know there were so many Democrats in Alaska," Begich said. "Tonight, I love the traffic jam."

Looking around, it seemed as if my entire high school had shown up. I waved to an old history teacher, spotted foreign exchange students, kids from the ski team, an assistant principal, and then caught up with two girls from my Spanish class, Kelly and Kayte Hughes, who had been volunteering since 3 o'clock.

Like many high school students too young to vote yet eager to be involved, they had become volunteers, herding the crowd toward, well, somewhere. No one seemed to have the answer to the question "Where am I supposed to be?"

"I don't think they planned for such a large turnout," Kelly said. "It's been really crazy."

Worse, she said, there were no special provisions for disabled voters, many of whom left early, unable to cope with the growing mob.

The original excitement was dwindling. Volunteers were bombarded with unanswerable questions. Some of the high school volunteers were berated by voters who were fed up with the constant changing of rooms due to overflowing districts. Paramedics wheeled one voter out as someone on the PA system announced that vehicles were blocking the ambulance.

Emily Lasselle, a senior at East, grumbled on her way to her district room. For her first caucus, the experience was memorable, but not necessarily fondly so. Between oaths and grumbling, she paused to assess the situation.

"This really is kind of cool though, how many people are caucusing."

The moment was brief -- another room change was announced.

Lasselle's disgruntled-yet-amazed sentiment was common among young people who had never participated in the process. This was supposed to be a milestone, a turning point on the path to adulthood. This was supposed to be part of that venerated civic duty.

Politics, on this frigid evening, was not about slogans and campaign contributions; it was about thousands of tired, disgruntled voters crammed in sweaty classrooms. It was the dazed teenagers scrambling to cast a vote before their district switched rooms again. It was the volunteers trying to cope.

It was "Survivor: Politics" and nothing like what I had expected. It wasn't pretty. It was messy and stuffy and exasperating and full of double-parked vehicles. But it was something.

Erin Britton is a senior at East High School.

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