76. I Met Obama Today! by Scott Wright




• I met Barack Obama today, at 6:35 AM, in Mishawaka, Indiana! Both Hillary and Obama have been in and out of my backyard for the last three weeks, trying to rally up that last push before primary day here in Indiana.
  
  I had been drinking heavily last night and I knew if I went to bed I wouldn't wake up in time to vote. So, what I did was drank coffee with my Southern Comfort all night and set my alarm for 5:45 AM. I listened to Crosby, Stills and Nash for most of the night because I was drunk, or maybe I was drunk because I was listening to them. Either way, when the alarm went off I walked out to my car with a pounding headache, and the door was locked. I went back inside to look for my keys, nothing. My car window was rolled down about an inch so I tried to shimy it down and squeeze my arm through to unlock the door. I heard a crack. I sighed, and ripped my arm back out, cracking half the window. My forearm was cut. Damn it. On my front seat was a purse and there was a chrome, scarab beetle hanging from the rear view mirror on Mardi Gras beads.
  
  I didn't have a purse or Mardi Gras beads, or a chrome Scarab. It wasn't my car and that's when I realized how drunk I was.
  
  I found my keys and drove to the voting precinct, even though it was only a block and a half away. That's when I noticed the crowd at the 7-11, which is right next to the Regency where you vote. That's when I saw him. It was seriously like seeing an alien figure or an Our Lady of Fatima sighting. I didn't even notice I had run a red light and there were about ten cops behind me. Apparantely, they were too caught up to notice me.
  
  So I parked like three blocks down due to lack of parking spaces. By the time I made my way back they were heading into the Regency. I ran as fast as I could, closing one eye so I could see because I was so drunk everything was double. I made my way in the small foyer, and broke through the crowd. I found a seat right next to him and sat down. There were women and men of all ages surrounding him. I wanted to tell him that I wasn't a redneck. That here, in the Rust belt, when the jobs are shipped over seas I don't cling to guns or religion in times of crisis, that never works. I mean it does help, but not like good old fashioned whiskey. Now that's what does work. I wasn't going to tell him that, though. These thoughts went through my head when people started slowly filtering out. Finally, a man in a nice suit coat walked up to me and asked if he could help me.
  
  I said I wanted an autograph from Obama. He said, who?
  
  Obama.
  
  He said Obama wasn't here, that they're not allowed to hang out in front of a voting booth. I said, oh, well I'm a redneck, sorry. I asked him why the crowd was here. He said, um, sir, it's Primary day. I got out of there before he could call the cops, but before I left I saw Obama again in the back, but he was making coffee and sweeping up the floor. Damn it, no more booze.