OK -- so there is a little hyperbole in the title, and not much real substance to this diary, but maybe a bit of diversion on a Sunday night is not a bad thing.
Follow below for my "rescue" story.
Yesterday I stopped by the Obama office in our local community to see if there was anything I could offer in the way of food or drink for the canvasers and phone-bankers, being that I was on my way to a "palooza" of an outdoor Country/Western and Bluegrass get together to raise some money for the local ARC, Foodbank and Homeless Coalition.
As I walked up to the storefront, I noticed an elderly (keep in mind, at almost 60, I am not a youngster) gentleman on his bike, sort of peddling and sort of walking and sort of weaving a bit, and pulling up to a stop right in front of the entrance to the "O" headquarters. He gets off the bike, and I open the door for him, as it is clear he is headed into the headquarters, and I figure he must be arriving to do some phone banking.
Well, he starts off reasonably enough, talking to the lady holding down the fort at the front desk, saying that O is going to win, and asking about signs, bumper stickers, buttons, etc. But pretty quickly, it becomes obvious that he is in a rather altered state of consciousness - self induced - and really has no intention of 1) being useful, or 2) leaving anytime soon.
Keeping in mind that this part of the office is maybe 12 x 12, and the little entryway and desk area is no more than 3 x 3, between him kind of lurching around, and me waiting to find out if there is anything I can bring back to the office, it is a rather cluttered scene, and one not likely to end soon. So -- he says something not to any particular point, and I use that as an oppportunity to suggest that he and I step outside where there is a little more room and we can talk about his subject of the moment. At first he declines, but on second suggestion, takes me up on it.
So ... we step outside and he takes me to his bike where he points to a plastic grocery store bag hanging on the handle bars and points inside it and says "can you get that thing cracked for me?" And looking in what do I see, but What looks like his favorite brew, along with some kind of paperback book. I let him know I'd be happy to help out, but perhaps we should mosey down the street a bit to where there is a public bench. To this he is quite amenable, noting that "this arthritis" makes it hard for him to handle those twist tops.
We walk down the street a bit (but not before the Obama lady pokes her head out the door with a smile and tells me that they are fine for food and have a nice day), and I get my new friend safely seated on the street bench, wherein he then tells me to take out the paperback book and feel free to read it and bring it back to him when done. Since I doubt I will ever see him again, I demur taking the book but do notice that it is an old Gary Larson "Far Side" comic book. So for the next ten minutes, Gary and his cows and bears and ducks and I reignite our old friendships, and my new friend regales me with tales of when he used to run political campaigns in the time before I could vote ("I helped run the first Republican campaign in Pinecone County!" - which, given that we are in NC, and he was probably talking about the early to mid sixties, could very well have been true).
At any rate, after about ten minutes of Gary, his creatures and my newfound friend's conversation, I returned the book, noted that I had to be on my way, and left him, not in the Obama office creating some harmless but nonetheless distracting hassles for folks, but on the public bench with his bike, and his "colt" (discretely wrapped in the usual brown paper bag, inside one of them new fangled plastic grocery bags), content, and for the moment safely seated.
And so ends my tale of Obama-ssistance for Saturdy, October 18, 2008.
And the music fest was fun and raised money for good causes, and I got to see a "Vet (as in miliary, not animal) for Obama" button on one of the folks in the crowd.