Faking Obamania

I decided a long time ago that if I got community credentials to Barack Obama's speech at Invesco Field that I would go. When tickets were released, I immediately applied for two credentials but I was wait listed.

Wednesday night, I received e-mail notification from the Obama camp that they realized how awesome I am and deemed me worthy of credentials. But first, I needed to go to a city where I've rarely been, drive around for a long time looking for their office, and if I found their office, then I could claim my prize.

Thursday afternoon: I hopped in the car with my google map instructions firmly in hand and headed towards my destination. So far, so good. Until I got to the street I needed and realized none of the buildings had street numbers on them so I had no freaking point from which to navigate!

I spent the next forty-five minutes driving in an oval searching for the Obama folks, watching my gas gauge steadily decrease and getting discouraged and pissed-off while teetering on the verge of Fuck It, I Give Up. Except I couldn't give up because I'd already told my mother we were going to see 'Bam and she was as giddy as a three-year-old hopped up on cotton candy.

After my fourth oval loop, I finally found the Obama folks in a rundown strip mall, tucked behind a grocery store, in a deserted retail space plastered with homemade Obama signs. I thought, "No way is this the place." Apparently hope, change, and millions of campaign dollars doesn't go too far in the real world.

Of course there was a line, which sucked because I hate lines, but fifteen minutes later, I was out of there, credentials in hand. For a minute though, I thought the guy wasn't going to give them to me because I wasn't sufficiently enthused. "You know people are usually a lot more excited," he told me. Yeah, well, those excited people probably support Obama and are planning to vote for him. That's not me. I'm only going to see him because it will be historical and I'm hoping for some good musical entertainment.

But I couldn't tell the fresh-faced twenty-something in charge of credentials, who had probably been stumping for Obama since last August, that Obama's not my guy because I think he might have flipped on me and snatched the credentials from my sweaty little hands. Instead, I faked some enthusiasm and got the hell out of there, credentials safely in hand for the biggest show in town.