My client Mr. Shinn calls me on my cell, rudely interrupting my nap time on a St. Croix beach. He has the voice of someone left on the continent, someone desperately in need of a vacaycay. Stressed out. Edgy. Caffeinated.
“Yo, Nat, What are you doing Saturday morning?”
“Oh Mr. Shinn, I don’t know. Probably getting the sleep I have not been able to find on this island.”
“No you are not. I am taking you to an Obama rally.”
“For real?” I reply slightly incredulous. I knew the senator was scheduled to speak in Dallas on Thursday while I was still on the island (our secretaries must have not communicated efficiently in regard to our respective schedules), but I had no idea about Saturday’s speaking engagement.
I am a politics nut. I work from home and listens to MSNBC all day long. Right, left, center, center right, center left, I’m all ears. With certain limits though. I do not indulge in commentators who advocate the use of little loofah things in the shower nor do I pay any attention to commentators who must subject to random drug testing. An Obama rally? I was stoked (the expression is a remnant of too much X Games watching.)
Saturday morning, Mr. Shinn picks me up at Starbucks and drives me downtown to City Hall. I look like Tintin the reporter. I’m equipped. Recorder? Check. Camera? Check. Chicken lens? Check. Uber Sport lens? Check.
Approaching the area, I am surprised at the lack of traffic, the lack of security, the abundance of parking spots, and a subdued crowd of ten lost souls on the plaza.
I landed at 2 am that same morning, have had three hours of sleep tops, and it does not look as if Mr. Obama and I are going to have a conversation over tea and crumpets any time soon. Mr. Shinn looks rather sheepish. He goes to investigate.
THERE IS AN OBAMA RALLY! Except… Sans Monsieur Obama. The speech he gave Thursday night will now be replayed on loudspeakers in-its-entirety. Wooptifriggindoo!
I look at Mr. Shinn. I look at the beautiful Henry Moore sculptures on the plaza. The man owes me. I point a vengeful finger:
“Mr. Shinn, go love Henry!”
Mr. Shinn took me to an Obama rally and all I got was this lousy photograph.