My Final Plea: Dinner with Barack Obama

VOTE

Today is the last day of voting, which means at midnight, I can go back to doing what I do best… not talking about the Black Weblog Awards.

2 days ago, I promised myself that I would push this until the very last moment, and I’m not going to waver from that statement.

So, without further adieu, this is my final plea. My favorite thing to do is tell stories and this is one of my favorites, a recent one from less than 24 hours ago. May this tale somehow convince you to vote and spread the word until 11:59pm and then never do anything nice for me ever again.

————The Story———–

Yesterday afternoon, I got this text:

Knowing that “622-22” is Obama’s private line, that he tends to speak in third person, and that he wouldn’t DARE send me a mass text, I responded:

He doesn’t ever respond, so I assume we’re a go.

I hit him back a few hours later, because I remembered that the Bennigans is much further than I thought.

Like the first one, it goes unanswered. I’m starting to think he might stand me up, which is extremely rude seeing as that he invited me in the first place.

So I rent a car, drive to Long Island, find the Bennigans and walk towards the back. As I’m walking, I see someone’s back and 3 huge Fruit Of Islam-looking dudes. I clear my throat, and the man turns around.

It’s Louis Farrakhan.

I shriek, faint, wake up, and then quietly say “Have you seen a Harriet Tubman poster in here?” He points, I buy a bean pie and some warm fruit, and BOUNCE. I keep walking through what must be the world’s largest Bennigans and finally spot Harriet. And under Harriet, wouldn’t you believe it, is the Black Hawaiian himself, Barack Obama. He’s got one secret service guy with him (that’s visible), but I’m the opposite of intimidated because he looks like a slightly smaller Zach Braff.

I clear my throat again, and they both turn around, stand up, and we exchange handshakes. I’m pretty caught off-guard, because he looks significantly more nervous that I feel. Maybe he’s a little shook because 500 Days Asunder gets more hits than Whitehouse.gov. Maybe? Maybe not? Anyway, we immediately go to the $4.99 all-you-can-eat buffet and just get aggressive with what we’re putting on our plates. I had 6 ribs, 4 hot wings, popcorn shrimp, creamed corn, spinach, and a jello mold all covered in gravy and sitting on a bed of cous cous, while Barry (no lie) gets 5 pieces of Tilapia, squeezes about 8 lemons on them, throws on some mashed potatoes (lunch lady-style,) tops everything with some velveeta and then proceeds to make a suicide in the soda fountain.

We go back to our seats and before I say a word, the secret service dude says “You get 3 questions for the president”

Obama looks up from his meal and gives me a “Sorry I brought this dude, I can’t shake him to save my LIFE” look. I say, “why so strict” and he responds with “3 Questions.”

I’m pretty upset and then lash out and say, “I didn’t even ask to be here, ya boy Barack asked me to come. He should ask me 3 questions, if you want to know the truth.”

Before this escalates, Barack steps in and says, “how about this? We just chat for a bit and then call it a day. And yo Shane, can you please give us 15 minutes, you ALWAYS do this when I’m trying to have fun”

Shane bounces.

So we’re talking about current events (Lebron being Wack, Weiner being dumb), talking about our favorite Martin episodes, and other random stuff. Then, for some reason, my confidence level skyrockets and out of nowhere I say:

“So Mr. President, at what point are you going to start being my hero again?”

He looks at me, slightly puzzled, and says, “I don’t know what you’re getting at?”

I say, “You know, the Obama that said how he really felt, no matter the consequence? You know, 2004 DNC Obama. Remember him? When’s he coming back? Is he? I mean, I’m totally behind you and, fun fact, want to work for you and help you get reelected, but just tell me when it’s happening. I need to know this right now or I’m walking out.”

I slid back in my chair like I had just made a power chess move. Now it was Barack’s turn.

He leans up and says, “You know, it’s tough Rembert. I know in order to do what I believe needs to be done for this country, it’s going to take at least 8 years. Well, I think I know that. I don’t know what I know sometimes. Regardless, in my mind, it was either go for broke in 4 and possibly not get reelected but never publically waver from my beliefs, or just stay above water for 4, have a better chance of getting reelected, and then be the revolutionary president I gave the impression I’d always be in 2007 and 2008. I would have loved option A, because that’s who I really am, but I think option B is going to happen and going to work.”

I’ve assumed this was always the case, but hearing it come from him made it seem a little bit more reasonable than before. I shake my head, and then ask a follow-up:

“So Mr. President, if you don’t mind me asking, if option B is the case, are you going to publicly change your stance on some of your first term issues, that is, changing them back to how you really feel?”

Without hesitation, he goes “Absolutely. Yeah, I’ll get a bunch of flack for being a flip-flopper, but whatever. I mean, do you ACTUALLY think I don’t believe in gay marriage? C’maaan. I know I’ve been a huge ass about this, but I’ll try to make up for it. I promise. That goes for like 15 other social issues, but I’ll fix them. The hippie liberal in me can only stay buried for so much longer.”

Hearing these words come out of Obama’s mouth almost brought me to tears. The only reason I didn’t cry is because there’s nothing worse than crying at Bennigans.

I wasn’t mad that he didn’t pick me up in the plane anymore, and was so grateful that he said what he said that I offered to leave the tip.

He wouldn’t let me do that, and instead we ended up splitting the bill. With my eyes, I said something to him that rhymes with “Bigga Trees”, but he was not phased. Unreal. Got to respect that. 

Anyway, as we’re walking out I tell him thanks for everything and good luck.

He reciprocates and tells me that he’ll get everyone in the White House to vote for my blog. I don’t believe him, but even the gesture was more than expected.

I get in my rental Toyota Corolla and I go home. What a Thursday.

———————–

Thanks to everyone for voting, retweeting, posting on facebook, posting on their blogs, and just telling anyone they know about the blog. All the support is overwhelming. I really appreciate it.

Happy Friday.

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About Rembert Browne

NYC via ATL //// rembert.browne@gmail.com 500daysasunder.wordpress.com
This entry was posted in Rando, Really Rando. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to My Final Plea: Dinner with Barack Obama

  1. Pingback: 1 Day Obama Career | 500 Days Asunder

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