My Obama Moment---9/12/08

I have seen the next Promised President of the United States. I may not be here when he's elected (I'll be in Malta--G-d Willing), but I have seen Him. This happened last Friday, September 12, 2008:

Today--during a CNN moment--I had an interaction with Barack Obama who came to Dover, NH, where I will remain living for the next six weeks before I leave the USA for Malta. (I'm leaving primarily because I can't afford to live in the USA anymore, especially when it comes to health insurance.

Thursday, I saw in the paper that he was coming. I went to the Obama campaign headquarters in Dover to see if I could get into the gym where he was speaking. The director there told me, no, it was only by invitation for the undecided voter.

It was no use trying to convince them at the office that I was undecided; I had walked off with too many buttons and banners other times. As I groveled, I suddenly got the idea of volunteering for the day. Would that work? Well, I was welcome to volunteer with the crowd outside but I wouldn't get in to see him. Not enough room.

Well, moose s____

I'm not your selfless type. I don't do things for nothing. If I'm going to stand for four hours, pass up my haircut appointment and skip lunch, I'm going to see Obama if I volunteer. Mr. S--my man across the ocean--convinced me to do it. I went to bed last night wondering if I could dream off 20 pounds by Friday morning.

Well this morning came, and I was still my same weight. So I got dressed up the best I could--considering my favorite fat-reducing pants were in the dry cleaners--and went early today to the McCormick Building in Dover across from the library where Obama was going to appear. The media and security were already there. I started loving it.

I deliberately avoided the woman who told me I wouldn't get in. Bad karma. Instead, I walked up to a very sophisticated woman who was thin and dressed up, and turned out to be a real official with Obama's campaign.

"I'm here," I told her.

She thought she knew who I was and said, "I need three mike runners."

I said, "I'll do it. What is it?"

She told me it meant going inside (see? I told you I'd get in) and holding the mike up to people who were selected by Obama to ask him questions after his speech.

Two other women and myself ended up volunteering, seeing this as our ticket inside.

On the way in, I text messaged everyone I knew--most of whom were leading regular lives working, earning money, etc., for the day. My daughter R got a moment away from her desk and called me. I told her about my new public service career as a mike holder for the Obama campaign. I thought I would give her a moment-by-moment description of my 15 minutes of mike-runner fame.

"R," I said, "I'm through security and now I'm passing through the media entrance." I could hear the pride in her voice as she followed my every word and then responded.

"Mom? Please don't say anything stupid into that microphone and embarrass yourself and our whole family."

It was just what I needed to hear to go on and perform my duty for my country. (Who ever said you can't count on your kids when you're older? Yes you can!)

We got inside the packed gym and received our instructions for holding the microphone. The main instruction: DO NOT LET GO OF THE MIKE. Wriggle over to where the person is and hold it at a 45-degree angle in front of his/her mouth. DON'T LET THE PERSON TAKE IT FROM YOU. DON'T LET ONE PERSON HAND IT TO ANOTHER.

I got it. By George, I got it. I held onto that microphone until my hands were sweating all over it.

The moment of Obama's entry into the gym arrived after I had been standing in one spot for almost two hours with my microphone. Was it Hardball host Christ Matthews who said he got a tingle up his leg when he saw/heard Barack Obama for the first time? Well, I almost had a tinkle down my leg when Obama walked in (I was holding more than my microphone by that time, as I couldn't leave and get to the bathroom).

Needless to say, Obama was brilliant and gorgeous and I couldn't believe I was seeing him in person only about 10 feet away from me.

After the speech, the questions started. A woman's hand finally went up on my side of the gym. Obama pointed to her. My moment of patriotic glory had arrived. My Democratic duty as mike runner. I scurried up to the front of the gym (in three-inch clogs no less), and I was right near Barack Obama. I mean, right in front of him. Like as close as you are to your PC screen right now.

But I had to struggle--as I was told to do--to get that mike over to the woman, as she was several rows over.

"Just hand it over to her," said Obama directly into his microphone. His voice was strong, authoritative and very presidential.

It's then that I heard the insane words come out of my mouth: "No, I'm not supposed to let go of the mike."

Huh?

Did I just say no to the next leader of the free world? Did I just say no? Like I used to say to my parents? "Ilene, give me that candy bar right now."

"No."

Did I say, "No, I'm not supposed to let go of the mike?"

And then Obama laughed, patted me on the right shoulder and said into his mike, "I can overrule you on this one." Was that laughter from the crowd I heard next?

Thank God, thank God in heaven, I just shut my idiot mouth and handed over that mike to that woman. (And she did give it back to me.)

For the next ten minutes I stood next to Barack Obama as he answered that woman's question. It was about America's disastrous health insurance system--the exact reason why I'm leaving for Malta in a few weeks.

I didn't know If I should stand there or not. I mean, I didn't want to turn my back on him as he answered. At the same time, I thought: My God, I'm just standing here next to Barack Obama. Should I be here? I mean, I was closer than any security guard even was.

When Obama finished his comments and I made my way to the back of the gym--my original location--the campaign woman who gave me my start in my political career as mike runner, hugged me and congratulated me on my excellent work. I'm not kidding.

I was also interviewed by a reporter with the Portsmouth Herald. I told him why I was leaving the US--that I was one of those people Obama was talking about: age 55 and above who can't get an affordable health insurance policy. As it is, I pay $900 a month--and I can't do it anymore.

Later, as we all left the gym, I realized how much I would miss my fellow mike runners. We had bonded so closely in just a few hours (and this I'm serious about).

Within an hour of getting home from the rally, I had messages that people had seen me on TV. My younger daughter B called me and said she saw me twice on CNN. She's 22 and now thinks her mom is so cool. That's probably the sweetest part of this whole day.

And I now realize that this moment was the best thing that could have happened to me before I leave the country. As my friend N said, it was a parting gift from America.

As I passed out on the couch (after finally getting to the bathroom), a miracle occurred: I saw myself on CNN's coverage of Obama's return to New Hampshire via the Dover rally. There I was, standing beside the next president of the United States of America. Standing there with my microphone safely back in my sweating hands. I can still feel his humorous pat on my right arm.

And now--after seeing myself on TV, on CNN in front of all these cameras--standing at arm's length beside Barack Obama in view of the entire world--I am truly strengthened and inspired to go on with the next difficult journey of my life: the mother of all diets.

Anyone have any coupons for Jenny Craig?

Source: Some of this information was taken from the author's own blog: an-american-in-malta.com