Jean and I log endless miles obsessing over the ins and outs of the campaign. We promise ourselves that if Obama wins, we will trek to the inauguration, our teenagers in tow. Jean magically scores Silver Tickets for all.
6:30 am: 30th Street station, Philadelphia: Bleary-eyed people of all ages begin to document this day by video and cell phone.
9:00 am: Our Amtrak train makes an unscheduled stop in Baltimore to disembark a passenger who is having an anxiety attack. I wonder, will this delay our Silver Ticket viability?
10:30 am: Washington DC: Where are the signs or officials to direct the millions of us? After countless wrong turns and dead ends (we briefly end up at a large party for tobacco lobbyists!), we are directed into the Purple Tunnel of Doom*** where thousands of people are grimly waiting. My thoughts grow softer towards the anxious Amtrak passenger and we leave the tunnel as soon as humanly possible.
11:30 am: The mall is officially closed and the swearing in ceremony is about to begin. Our Silver Tickets cannot help us. We stand with many others by a fence, 1 block from the mall. The sound is muffled. A man plays the ceremony from his cell phone, making sure that our kids can hear. There is a distinct and eerie time delay between the muffled speakers and the cell phone oratory. The crowd is proud and resolute in relishing the moment; our circumstances undiminished.
12:00 pm: Art saves the day—we decide to warm up, by walking. People are entering the Freer Gallery of Art. We follow through the museum and, Voila!, we exit onto the mall, a jumbotron directly in front of us. We listen to Obama’s tough, reasoned and intelligent (!) address.
Soon after, a helicopter takes George Bush away from Washington.
1/20/09 has arrived!
***A Facebook group was created, “Survivors of the purple tunnel of doom,” with hundreds of members.
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