The O-Train Comes to Tampa

My kids and I got kicked out of the Barack Obama rally yesterday. And I wasn't even drunk.

Breaks down like this: When I called about the event last week, I asked if I could purchase a ticket for myself and take my two children along.

"How old are they?" the volunteer asked.

"Seven," I said.

"Sure," she said.

Yesterday, my boys and I got to the event and picked up my ticket. We waited in line about a half-hour and then walked past the gate and into the Cuban Club.

Which, by the way, I hadn't been to since the late 80s. Still smells like clove cigarettes. Used to be a regular at the Club's basement concerts. Last event: Suicidal Tendencies. I am not proud of this.

Anyway, as I'm experiencing flashbacks, a tall, skinny, blonde ran up to us and said,

"You all will have to leave."

I couldn't believe it. Hadn't even asked someone to feel my new breasts and belly. Yet.

"Why?" I asked.

"Your children need tickets or they'll have to wait outside."

"They can't wait outside without me. They're only seven."

"Then you're going to have to leave. Or you can go buy them tickets."

"They're seven," I repeated, incredulous. "A bit young to make a political contribution. They don't even know if they're supporting Senator Obama yet."

Nothing. Not even a smile. I took a deep breath and tried to go to my happy place. Was *not* going to pay an extra $50 for two kids who were more interested in Nintendo games than presidential hopefuls.


Have I mentioned they're seven?

"Listen," I said, "I talked to the campaign and..."

"They need tickets."

Okay, let's take a step back. I've been to dozens, damn near a hundred, political events. I've even helped organize a few. You never *ever* kick out kids.

Never. Ever.

"The campaign said..."

"Look, I'm just a volunteer," she said through a snarl. "Please leave."

I've been treated better at Bush rallies.

So I left. What else could I do? Then I decided to talk to someone in charge. Blondie wasn't going to have the last word.

Met three African-American women at the main table and said,

"My children and I were kicked out."

Explained the situation and all three women went nuts. Could not believe that we'd been told to leave. They grabbed two tickets and assured me this was a terrible mistake. Even gave me some bumper stickers. Then they walked me back inside to attend the event. I blew a kiss at Blondie and decided to move on mentally.

After the initial drama, I had a good time. Saw a few familiar faces. Stogie was all kinds of nice. Plenty of Pasco Dems. Joe Redner was there. Nice ass for an old guy.


I almost asked for free tickets to Mon's. Dying to go there before I move away. More than you know.

Back to the O-Train.

Place was packed. Senator Obama is more than a politician. I've never felt such energy at a rally before, people reacted with vigorous, animated, pumped-up enthusiasm - he's more like a rock star. He talked about how the country is ready to turn a page and start over. As I stood there in the sun, taking in his message of hope and renewal, I felt an optimism I hadn't felt since a young governor from Arkansas took the world by storm fifteen years ago. Felt awesome.

As Obama was leaving, he came over and shook hands with my little boys. Asked them how they were doing and shook my hand as well. Dude was so close, I could smell his cologne.

Hot.

By that time, I'd sort of forgotten all about Blondie. Even the best campaigns attract psycho hosebeasts.

Here is the Man of the Moment talking to my children who finally put down their Nintendos to say hello.



He's trying hard not to look at my perky breasts.


But who isn't?

Afterwards, Youngest said, "Mommy that was cool! I met Barack Obama and I did a report on him at school!"

Way cool, kid.

Okay, that's my Barack Obama story. Back to work, peeps.