My date with Sarah

I tend to avoid crowds as best as I can, however, certain times calls for extreme measures, so I ventured out for a encounter with conservatives favorite gal, Sarah Palin.

The encounter took place in a small airport hanger just outside of Lakeland Florida. How fitting that the name of the airport is called “Fantasy of Flight,” because my fantasy girl was about to touch down on my right-winged heart. For selfish reasons I was hoping for a small turnout, three would’ve been nice, but a lot of guys like me showed up spoiling any chance of an intimate setting. Republicans by nature aren’t the roughneck type. No, we didn’t all have on starched white shirts under blue blazers and there wasn’t a mint julep concession stand to be found as we waited for the gates to open.

Rarely does a man get to talk openly about the other woman to his wife, but after years of marriage, my wife is secure enough to let me ramble on about a school boy crush and the women he’s about to meet. The fact that secret service agents would line the stage also calmed any fears that I would sweep Sarah off her feet and make a quick get-a-way down the I-4 corridor.

All this is possible because Florida is a swing state in the high stakes game of politics. I can thank the undecided voters for my chance to press the flesh with the lady I’m in total agreement with. Just think, my dream date hinged on some wacko who can’t make up their mind over socialism, or a free market. I guess its three cheers for the idiots.

As we entered the arena a quick decision needed to be made. Should we head for the seats which were a good distance from the stage, or stand up front, which would put me about thirty feet from the podium? My wife didn’t care, this was my fantasy not hers, so off we went to stand as close to the microphone as possible. The crowd was small at first, but soon Republicans from all walks of life converged in my little space creating what’s know in the rock and roll world as a mosh pit. This pit, though not as dangerous as drugged-out head-bangers pit, did have certain risks. For example, the old man in front of me smelled of mothballs and kept rocking back not only invading my space, but actually coming in contact with me. The woman to my right decided to bring in the biggest handbag that’s ever been made, which led to a constant barrage of a purse colliding with my hip. Between the old man and the lady I felt like a pinball bouncing to and fro. However, my sightlines stayed unobstructed and I knew in a few minutes all would be forgotten because Mrs. Sunshine would be standing only thirty feet from these eyeballs.

Two hours later, really, two hours later, I’m still standing, still waiting. My view of the podium was clear, yet uneasiness entered my mind. Young staffers from the Palin team started handing out campaign signs, large signs, the kind of signs that obstruct view, the kind of view I came for. Mothball man grabbed a sign and my view of the stage disappeared in a sea of blue “Country First,” signs. It was time to take action. I positioned myself in a way for mothball man to understand who he’s dealing with. I folded my arms letting my elbow protrude from the center of my chest. One rock back and Mr. Mothball would receive a nice gift between the shoulder blades courtesy of timely placed elbow. (Sometimes even likeminded people must be taught a lesson.) Within a minute the old man rocked back coincidently at the same time I happened to rock foreword. Let’s just say my view once again was clear and I had a perfect sightline to where the lady would be speaking.

I knew time was getting close because guys in suits wearing sunglasses (inside a building) made their way in front of the stage. I’m not familiar with Florida’s stalker laws, but evidently I looked the part because an agent kept looking my way as he whispered in his coat sleeve. I guess I couldn’t blame him, I had a camera in one hand, a video recorder in the other, drool running down my chin, and I just brought a ninety-year old man to his knees that dared to raise a sign in front of me.

I could just see myself being wrestled to the ground, so thinking quickly, I turned back to my wife and started a conversation hopefully giving the appearance I’m not some loner who has a shrine to Sarah Palin in my one room efficiency. My wife wiped the drool off my chin and patted me on the head. Now they think I’m mentally challenged and present no danger.

After two and one half hours of standing Mrs. Palin made her entrance giving a new definition to fashionably late. The crowd was ruckus, signs were waving, and all I could see were high heels and legs and I knew it was about to get better.

I didn’t pay much attention to her appearance, although her shoes had about three inch heels while bare legs disappeared in a snug fitting black skirt. A bright blue blouse with long sleeves rolled up just to her elbows revealed a white bracelet on her right wrist. She seemed tan for an Alaskan gal, however it went perfect with her designer glasses and her hair with a few brown highlights was pulled up over her ears. But like I said, I didn’t study her, that’s just what I remember.

Her stump speech wasn’t anything I haven’t heard, in fact, I probably knew it by heart, so it left me time to document my date with Sarah. I snapped photos for a while, and then took video, then went back to still photos. All in all I looked like the traveling media sans press pass and a Democrat voter card.

She wrapped up her speech to thunderous applause and I knew my date was coming to a close. Perhaps it was fate, or the kinetic energy one feels to be drawn to people on the same wave length, but it was probably just dumb luck. Whatever the case, Sarah Palin starts walking towards me. Suddenly we are alone in a building full of two thousand people. She steps down from the platform and moves to her right. I move to my left. People from all over congregate around us. They are handing her signs to autograph and hands to shake. In the meantime, my hands are full of cameras and I have no sign or pen for her to use to autograph.

For a brief second I’m standing face to face with what could be the second most powerful person in the world. Only inches separate us and I can’t think of one line to use on her. Anything would have been good. I could’ve said, “So, you come to Florida often?” Or, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee so we can strategize about your 2012 Presidential bid?”

But nothing fell from my mouth. The 14 year-old boy inside me just stood there while 46 year-old man hid.

I had what she wanted… my vote. She had what I wanted… her to be the next Vice President.

There we were at one place trapped in a political whirlwind with unspoken words passing through lips that didn’t move. With all the airport hangers in Florida she had to come to mine. And then just like that, she was gone, whisked away to another town to see another man just like me.

Sarah, we’ll always have Lakeland.