The Obama Acceptance Speech.
After a day of perfect conclusion came the epilogue.
Corbin and I decided it would be absolutely insane to have one of the more important speeches in American history happen across the street without our presence. Jeremy and Abby concurred, and together we crafted a crudely-made cardboard sign that simply read: "College Kids Need Tickets... Please?".
After about an hour of holding it up, (and losing most faith) a guy came up to us posing a question to us.
"Say I had an extra ticket, but only one--which one of you would get it?"
At first, I thought he was just messing with us, and was half-ready to shoo him away. But I used my better judgment, and went along. I said Corbin, because he was most excited to see this speech, and he, being a vehement Obama supporter, would appreciate the most. Everyone else said that I should go, because I was the one with the camera, I was the one with the documentary to complete. Which was extremely nice of them, but this wasn't really my focus, and I didn't want to be the only one from our group to get in. (They all got in to the speech eventually, so I didn't have anything to be guilty about for long.)
But it turned out, I accepted the ticket, despite my guilt, after making sure it was okay with them. I handed the cardboard sign to Jeremy, and ran in with this guy I had only met minutes prior.
Rajulio was a jovial person, as giddy as I was to get into this absolutely historic, prestigious event. He revealed to me that the ticket he had was a Staff ticket, meaning that we could get in to any place at Invesco Field, from the floor to the nosebleeds. I was in shock.
We went through security, which was pretty loose considering the circumstances, and tried to find our place. The man assisted us by showing us the designated Staff seats, which just so happened to be with the Press. It was fairly crowded on first glance, but this vague notion of crowding was eventually quashed as soon as we entered the stadium.
I stopped in my tracks. Stevie Wonder had just finished (which I'll never forgive myself for missing) and the crowd was on its feet. All 160,000 feet. Considering Beaverton has a population of roughly 95-100-thousand people, to see 80,000 people at once, all excited and jumping for the same thing at the same time, was nearly too much to comprehend. Simply, I will never see that many people at one time ever again.
Pushing our way through the crowd, the two of us tried and continually failed to find open seats. In our efforts to find seating, we came upon the most entitled and rude crowd I've ever been a part of. And I've seen punk bands in concert.
Never have I seen so many angry and frustrated people than at this event. It's as if they'd never had to wait for anything their entire lives, and were absolutely appalled that they had to, (shutter the thought!) stand for a few minutes until it wasn't congested anymore.
"What kind of shit is this?" a huffy dignitary exclaimed. "Um, excuse me, I need to get to my seat." While no one else was moving, and no one else was getting to their seat, a good majority of the crowd expected that everyone else move mountains for them. After spending a week with protesters who were just grateful for a bottle of water or a place to sleep, this absolutely disgusted me.
Another official looking presumed-delegate began to push Rajulio and myself through the crowd, going against the grain to get to his seat. His hand was literally on my shoulder, pushing me against the crowd. A middle-aged gentlemen from Rhode Island began to yell at me.
An Unexaggerated Dramatization of The DNC, by Chris Osborn.
AL GORE has just begun his speech, as the crowd cheers wildly. CHRIS is being continually shoved forward by PUSHING MAN, an older African-American not-so-gentlemen wearing a traditional African hat, and a black three-piece-suit. In the fray is RHODE ISLAND, a man of about 58, who wears a pastel-coloured plaid shirt and khaki cargo-shorts. His socks are high, but bunched up. He has a frustrated disposition.
RHODE ISLAND. What the hell are you doing, kid? Sheriff! Sheriff!"
CHRIS. Sir, I'm being pushed this way, I'm sorry.
RHODE ISLAND. Yeah, yeah sure. Yeah right.
RHODE ISLAND begins wildly motioning with his hands.
RHODE ISLAND. Sheriff! This boy is blocking us from our seats.
CHRIS. (desperately) Sir! This man behind me is pushing me this wa--
PUSHING MAN. (with vitriol) Oh, so I'm the bad guy for wanting to get to my seat.
DIPLOMATIC WOMAN. (overly-earnest) Please, please! This is history, let's not get upset! Let's enjoy this!
SASSY LATINA WITH REFRESHMENTS. You'd be frustrated too, if you just spent an hour waiting in line for food.
RAJULIO. Look man, no one's getting through! Okay?? So you just need to calm down and shut up.
RHODE ISLAND. (over his lines) Blah, blah, blah! Whatever kid, I'll let the Green take care of you. I'll let the Green take care of you!
A LITTLETON POLICE OFFICER enters from S. Left, holding his belt. He wears a GREEN uniform.
EXUENT.
***
I was flabbergasted. No concert crowd in my life, not even the absolutely atrocious Girl Talk crowd at CU Boulder last weekend, was as disgruntled as these Democrats.
After sitting through an unbearably bland performance from Michael MacDonald while blocking the views of four very testy women, (we missed Stevie Wonder, but got this?) Rajulio and I realized down was the best option, and managed our way onto the floor.
Here we were, in the heart of it, walking past every major news station, rubbing shoulders with all the bigwigs of the Press. Over there was NBC News! And CNN! I could literally smell Wolf Blitzer! And there was Charlie Rose! And the Reverend Al Sharpton just walked by!
It all got to be too much, (and unwatchable--I couldn't see a thing from the floor), so I found myself a seat in the third row.
I sat directly behind the FOX News hub, which was endlessly entertaining. The newsladies they have working there were schmoozing it up, constantly mussing their hair, or applying more makeup. They were the vainest of any of the journalists I'd seen that day. I caught some flirting with cameramen, taking photos with them, eyeing them seductively. I couldn't believe my eyes.
The seat I had found for myself just so happened to be with the NPR crew. And in my absolutely geekiest fantasy, I sat two rows in front of Ira Glass himself, host of This American Life. I was absolutely petrified that it wasn't actually him, but rather some other gray-haired fellow with giant glasses who happened to work for NPR, so I didn't introduce myself, and instead opted to creepily glance to him every other minute.
All of this drama nearly made me forget the reason we were all there in the first place. Out came Barack Obama, waving to the crowd, smiling wider than I'd ever seen him smile.
The speech, as you all know, was absolutely fantastic, coming off tough and Presidential, while personalizing his goals by tying it back to his childhood and the people he loves. Regardless of the spin cable news channels may have, there's little to question when it comes to his sincerity. It was present in this speech in particular, as Obama was impassioned, fiery and yet, tangible. Claims of elitism seem so unjustified when you see him speak in person, and as this was the second time I have, this was the dealmaker.
Others weren't as impressed as the rest of us. The NPR crew behind me were like kids shooting spitballs from the back of the class, occasionally making a cynical remark or snide laugh. Ira Glass was stoic the entire time, refusing to clap or smile or nod at anything.
The staff at FOX News could have cared less that there was a speech going on, which surprised me the most. Usually, you figure the newscasters are listening to a speech in order to make informed criticisms on it for commentary. Not so with FOX News. Instead, the women continued to flirt and fix their hair and makeup, whereas Shepard Smith seemed to be discussing baseball with one of the grips.
The finale of Obama's speech was most gripping, as he reminded us of Martin Luther King Jr.'s famous speech forty-five years prior. The symbolism, as orchestrated as it was, was undeniable. Regardless of your political beliefs, it was something to be proud of.
The fireworks exploded around 80,000 cheering people, not for one single man, nor for his words, nor a political party, not even for a country. No, they were cheering for change, and not in the immediate sense. They cheered for the beauty of humanity, and its ability to better itself. They cheered for possibility, for inverted history. They cheered for each other, for the closeness they felt for one another.
They cheered, because you can only whine about getting to your seat for so long. Sometimes you cheer when others get to theirs.
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