On Assignment: Covering El Presidente

I enjoy my job. Some days more than others, but in today's economy, beggar's can't be choosers. And when I say beggars, I mean people with a Bachelor's Degree in Liberal arts with a sub-3.0 GPA, such as myself.

Yesterday was one of those days when I really like my job, because I get to cover something cool. This cool thing happened to be the 44th President of the United States, Mr. Barack Obama. Not bad for a 25-year-old asshole who still isn't quite sure about the social stigmas attached to hand lotion.

It's the first time I've covered Obama, and I was lucky enough to cover President Bush on two non-consecutive occasions. I always liked covering Presidents, because the leader of the free world and the effect he has on people is a fascinating thing to watch.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Yesterday, I happened to be the only non-White House Press Corps media assigned to this particular story. So I had to get into Washington D.C. by 10:15 a.m. Not a problem, right? Except for that fact that the president wasn't speaking until at least 1:00.

So I am forced to spend three-plus hours waiting for a speech that ended up taking 15 minutes. Not the president's fault, but I wish he would be more considerate of reporters who write for weekly community papers with circulations of less than 30,000. Where's the change he promised??

Anyways, I was forced to spend three-hours in the lonely press section of this auditorium. I had a book to read, and of course, my ever-present Yahtzee on my cell phone, but that only lasted me about an hour's worth of amusement.

So when I got bored, I had plenty of time to people-watch. And when you're surrounded by people who are waiting to see the president, it's always interesting.

Secret Service agents, for example. Those are some bad-asses to the Nth degree. You see the dark suit and the earpiece, and they may not look like much. Hell, the older guys look like they could just as easily be accountants or something.

Which is exactly what they want you to think. These fuckers see everything going on. And I mean EVERYTHING.

Example: I was covering an event last December in which the keynote speaker was the director of the FBI. Such an important gentleman has Secret Service agents that protect him.

I was sitting in the press section, with a bunch of cameramen. Next to me was a guy in a kilt, with a full bagpipe set-up. He played some traditional song beforehand, and he would play something at the end, and in between he was hanging out near the press, and we ended up shooting the shit for a little while.

So we're talking, and all of a sudden, a Secret Service Agent, who I swear was on the other side of the crowd ten seconds ago, materializes next to the guy. And he asks the bagpiper why he keeps reaching into his coat.

Now, I had been talking with the guy for about ten minutes, and I didn't once realize that he reached in his coat. It turns out, part of the harness for the bagpipes is right below the sternum, and the guy was fiddling with it while he was standing around. The Secret Service Agent noticed his fiddling from about 100 feet away, and he came over to check it out. Bad ass.

As the agent is turns to leave, the bagpiper says, "I thought you were going to ask me about the knife." See, as part of his ceremonial garb, he had a long, curved dagger in a silver holder on his side. And the Secret Service agent responded with:

"I saw that when you arrived, sir. I don't think you'd get too far with that thing."

I think I popped a boner right there. Fucking awesome.

Anyways, back to El Presidente.

The mood before a president speaks is unlike anything else I've ever seen. The closest thing I can think of is the buzz before a big boxing or wrestling match. The audience knows that something big is going to happen, something they have been waiting for for quite a while, and they know it will be over before they know it. The anticipation is thick in the air.

It's funny, I've learned that the buzz before a presiden comes is the only thing that stops me from playing the usual game I play when I'm around large crowds. I usually play the, "Who are the hottest chicks and in what order would I nail them?" game, which is always a winner.

Except, before the president shows up, I like to play the "which one of these people is like John Malkovich in In the Line of Fire and has some sort of composite plastic weapon to kill the president with?" game. Which is quite fun.

Note: Sometimes I revert back to the Who are the hottest chicks and in what order would I nail them?" game when a hot chick walks in, which they inevitably do.

As far as the John Malkovich game, the first thing you do is eliminate your suspects. In the case of Barack, you can eliminate black people.

I mean, for real, what black person is going to do anything to Obama? I'm pretty sure the Secret Service doesn't even put them through the metal dectectors. It's a waste of time.

I'd like to imagine some sort of reverse discrimination, where the Secret Service eyes white people with nothing but suspicion and the black folk in attendance are completely above suspicion.

So every single whitey in the place was under the umbrella of suspicion. Step one, complete.

Step two: I drop a test fart to see who notices the sound and/or smell.

You see, the standard maniac who is waiting to hurt the president is probably no nervous that he's not focusing on anything external, he's preparing to make history and/or get capped by the Secret Service for his trouble.

Judging from the disgusted looks and suddenly empty seats around me, no one in my section was planning anything shady. A standard check of the ol' underpants for a shart (yeah, it smelled that bad), and step two is complete.

Slowly but surely, a list of suspects presented itself.

Suspect one: McBeardFace. The old white guy in the suit with a unbelievable bushy beard. Is he some sort of Confederate General that has travelled forward in time to see if the South won the war? Upon discovering that one of the "slave folk" in in charge, will he immediately challenge the president to a duel with pistols at dawn?

Suspect two: TwirlyPen. The nervous looking white guy who keeps twirling and clicking his pen. Is the pen some sort of grenade a la, GoldenEye, where the right combination of clicks turns it into a live grenade with a five-second fuse?

Suspect three: Hooty McBoob. A buxom wench sitting near the front, who acts all high society, but is probably a half-generation removed from having slave labor. Bitch.

There you have it, a list of probable assasins.

The Secret Service ain't got shit on me.

But of course, they did their jobs, and despite what the agent said, I'm pretty sure I stopped an assassination, so I can feel good about that. Still, that fucker could have at least thanked me instead of threatening the taser.

After three hours of waiting, the president spoke briefly, and then it was all over. The people who were taking pictures were like little kids at a concert. The only thing that would have been worse would have been if they were all cell-phone cameras.

Let me tell you something about when a president enters a room. It's like a bomb goes off. The ripple that goes through the room as palpable. I actually noticed it more with Bush, but I don't know if that's just because he was the first one that I covered.

Anyways, if I had done anything obnoxious, I'm sure you would have heard about it on the news.