|
My
(brief) encounter with Barak Obama
I
shook Barack Obama's hand the other day though I hadn't intended
to. Apparently, he wanted to shake mine, so what could I do?
All day the buzz kept building about his late-afternoon visit.
At the appointed hour, I was out on the second-floor balcony,
having a smoke, as a growing crowd of fellow company drones
gathered to witness his scheduled arrival. He was coming from
way across town and was running late. We heard his motorcade
coming before we actually saw it - the police escort had sirens
blaring. The motorcade rounded a corner at the top of a hill
and, stopping traffic, glided smoothly to a halt in front
of the building. A bunch of Secret Service agents scrambled
out of one SUV and took up positions. Then, the senator bounded
out from another SUV. A loud cheer went up from the drones
on the balcony. He paused, smiled and waved. The crowd cheered
even louder. Then, he disappeared into the building. Eventually,
we all went back to work. More or less.
Before I knew it, it was quitting time, so I packed up my
shit and headed downstairs. I was mildly surprised when I
reached the lobby, which was jammed with company drones, some
of whom had been on the balcony earlier. Obama was still in
the building, and they were waiting to witness his departure.
I had every intention of leaving, but then I ran into a colleague
I hadn't seen for a while, so I stopped to chat with her.
Then a few more friends appeared, so I figured what the hell
and joined the party.
During the wait, I decided I would maintain a cool, professional
detachment. I wouldn't take his picture, I wouldn't get his
autograph, I wouldn't even try to shake his hand. I'd just
observe. I like to think I could maintin this kind of detachment
even if it were Jesus. Or Britney.
Suddenly,
the Secret Service agents in the lobby began to stir. One
of the company security guards offered some friendly viewing
advice to several late arrivals who scurried into position.
The elevator bell dinged, the doors slid open and Obama emerged.
The lobby erupted into applause.
The lanky senator casually made his way down the line of company
drones, shaking hands and smiling for pictures. Then, he was
in front of me. I was standing just behind and slightly to
the side of my colleague, who had shoved a mini-tape recorder
at him and was asking him a question, something about the
women's vote. "Oh," he said, "I didn't know I was going to
be interviewed." As he tried to give the blandest answer possible,
he looked up, looked directly at me. And stuck his hand out.
Generally speaking, I tend to be surly, cynical and sarcastic,
but I never try to be impolite. So I grabbed his hand and
pumped it a few times. I immediately noticed two things. The
first thing I noticed was that his grip wasn't all that firm.
But that's to be expected. I mean, he must shake hundreds,
maybe thousands of hands each day and has been for a year
or more. It's a wonder he has any grip left. The other thing
I noticed was how soft his hand was, soft like a girl's. I
nearly blurted out, You use hand lotion? Instead, I said nothing.
The moment passed as quckly as it began. He released my hand
and moved on.
Later, at home, I related all this to my wife, who was disappointed
that she hadn't been there. Then she had a bright idea. "Have
you washed your hands yet?" she said. "No," I said. "Good,"
she said and made me shake her hand, as if some Obama karma
might rub off. As we stood there, in the kitchen, I couldn't
help but compare the two handshakes: My wife's grip was way
more firmer, but Obama's hand was way more softer.
Posted
02.02.08|
|
