Captain’s log, day 21. We have entered the third week of our wait, and the patience of the men grows thin. Around me the line for the Obama rally stretches like some primordial sky-serpent, wrapping around Walter Hall and the streets beyond.
Chad has already perished of thirst; we petitioned the sellers around us for water or foodstuffs, but all they had were Obama buttons and T-shirts. Chad was not amenable to drinking those despite my suggestions, and t’was not long before the light dimmed from his eyes. I have laid out a cairn for his body and set it alight; may his sacrifice not be-
I was jostled out of my writing by sudden movement from the line ahead. Movement! I could scarcely remember a time when I was not waiting in this godforsaken line. Tears of joy leapt from my eyes and I praised the heavens, while the men and women around me sighed in exasperation. “You know it’s only been an hour, right?” said one guy, whose sense of time had clearly been warped by Line Madness.
Apparently, about two hundred or so people up ahead had suddenly fallen violently ill with a serious case of the Oh My God This Line Is Eternity, most likely incurable. Suddenly, we were walking forward! Baker Center, Buffalo Wild Wings, the sights of my youth!
By then we had made it to the white tents of the security booth, where security patted us down for weapons. Don’t let the media fool you: a cavity search is not nearly as embarrassing as people would have you believe. The gentleman behind me was quite understandably incensed when the Secret Service forced him to relinquish what he called his “novelty gun-shaped camera.” I heard he’s somewhere in Venezuela now.
After security gave me my underwear back and promised to call me this weekend for dinner and a movie, I was in! I had never seen Court Street this packed with people (when alcohol wasn’t being provided), and the Secret Service snipers in every building window really made for a friendly, supportive atmosphere.
We were still waiting for Obama to talk when I was startled by a rustling in the large bush next to me, because apparently a political rally is the best place to let your children run free and wild for the afternoon. At one point, I looked under the bush to see not a child, but a fully-grown adult male staring back at me defensively as he struggled to worm his way to a better viewing point. I would have laughed at him if I weren’t so angry that he’d thought of it before I did!
But then: the lights lit up, and the music came to a halt! It was finally time for us to be met face to face with ... Mayor Paul Wiehl! And then: some guy! And then: some lady! And then: William Wallace! I mean, Ted Strickland, who I am pretty sure was being handed $5 every time he said the words “Because of President Barack Obama.” I’m sorry, let me rephrase that: “BECAUSE OF PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA!”
Anyway, it was all well worth the wait to be able to see, firsthand, the back of a blonde guy’s head while President Obama’s voice spoke over a loudspeaker. I was particularly flattered when said voice referred to us as a “good-looking crowd.” I like to think this means he has been reading the sexts I’ve been sending him for four years. And I met a lot of interesting people too, which was kind of inevitable considering I was standing between a shoeless hippie who smelled like a septic tank and an armless Civil War veteran.
All in all, it was a great experience that I will absolutely not talk to any of my friends about. I have a reputation to uphold, after all, and nobody’s going to think I’m an edgy cool kid unless I pretend not to care about politics. So if anybody asks, I spent Wednesday eating saltine crackers and watching True Blood, and as far as I know, “Obama” refers to a brand of sports shoe. RON PAUL 2012, Y’ALL.
Ryan McAndrews is not a pundit, but he is a senior studying journalism at Ohio University and a columnist for The Post. Were you in the line? Email Ryan at rm287608@ohiou.edu.
