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So, I show up at 8am with all the other volunteers, we're all milling around on the streetcorner while the coordinator gets his shit together with the team leaders. Sunscreen is shared among the volunteers. I sip a latte. About 9:30am, we're split into our groups and ready to go. The gates open about 10ish, but people are already lined up across the Hawthorne bridge to get in.
My first job is walking the line, telling people with the nice "blue tickets" to turn on their cell phones and take off their metal buttons before they go through the metal detectors. White ticket/No ticket people can go right in, further back from the stage, but they face harsher conditions later in the day...
Then, I am called away for a special assignment. The anti-choice dillweeds have their very own "free speech zone" set up about 10 ft. away from the gates, thank you so very fucking much PPD. So my glorious duty is to stand in front of one of the jerks and his 6-ft tall abortion sign, while still directing people to the entrances. Of course, the zealot rails on me and I verbally engage at times, but my primary job is still lobby "ushing". One sympathetic activist hands me a bumper sticker reading "Teach Abstinence: No Bush! No Dick!" which I promptly stick onto the chest of my shirt.
Even with moral support of many rally-goers, I tire of the continuous stream of abuse, and after 20 minutes of Nazi Blocking, I'm ready to try something else.
At about this time, the police have -- for some reason unknown to me, but probably obvious to the Secret Service -- moved the entry line to the West side of Naito/Front street. This makes the perimeter patrol a bit more difficult. The "line" is no longer characterizable as such, and has become a "throng". It's starting to get hot. One of my fellow volunteers asks if I have any water, so I bounce back into the event to shanghai someone from the water deployment team. Shock! The water is late, and we need to trek across the park to get some. But wait, the police won't let the volunteers past one of the barricades to get the water. *boggle* Eventually, we hook around on Naito and go to the back entrance (VIPs, Vets, and handicapped).
Sure enough, there is the water but.... as it turns out, the water truck has not been unloaded.
Thus begins my next chore, unloading the water truck. There are about 20 of us now on ad-hoc water duty. We form "bucket brigades" to get the cases of bottled water out of the truck. Thousands. Of. Cases. Of. Bottled. Water. Furthermore, the water must be inspected by experts and sniffed by a police dog before it's distributed to the teeming masses.
The crowd across the street will not be let in. The Fire Marshall has declared the venue full-to-bursting. There are people massed on the sidewalks, on top of buildings, probably half as many as made it in to the rally proper.
It is very hot now, and I'm getting close to heat exhaustion by the time we unload all the water under the West side of the Hawthorne bridge, in several large piles. Now, the task is to get the water to the people. That means hoofin' it across the desert sands with one or more cases of water hanging off ya. At first, people were carrying two or even three at a time, but that quickly dwindled to one, pretty much across the board.
Now, the police have closed the access route we would have used to bring the water back towards the gate. Jon Bon Jovi is visible through the backstage crowd singing something about a cowboy. We find devious ways to relay the water cases through the barricades to the crowd, but most of the water is going to the "blue ticket zone". It is about this time that a migraine headache hits me hard.
I retreat to some shade near the press stables, where gaunt phantom-eyed reporters feverishly struggle with their laptops to upload their accounts to voracious editors in Charleston and Pensacola. A chair, occupied only by the carcass of a water bottle, is available thank goodness. I rest for a while. Then, there is much cheering as the Kerry campaign buses drive right past me to park next to the river -- well, almost. There is not enough room. The VIP bus makes an improbable five-point turn on the not-so-wide access path, sideswipes a tree, and chugs to a halt on the grass about 30 ft. away.
Someone of national importance whom I don't recognize asks me where the bathrooms are, and I humbly direct her to the "honey bucket" porta potties. I am behind the stage, and couldn't see anything even if my optic nerve wasn't doing its version of Hurricane Charlie. I can still hear okay, tho. Teresa Heinz begins a marathon speech. I resume walking cases of water to the dropoff points, or anyone who looks thirsty enough to merit it. Eventually, I make a foray back towards the main gate with water.
Big mistake. The metal detectors are down, and the SS deems that I cannot re-cross the magic porta-potty line of safety, despite my volunteer badge. It is a one-way trip Now, John Kerry is speaking, so I sit down under a tree and listen. He's good. He's got that rolling cadence going now, a series of brilliant one-two punches that decry the sorry state of affairs and propose solutions while never directly attacking the chimpster. He'll be a fantastic president, compared to what we have now.
The fire department and some paramedics are treating people for heat stroke. Sen. Kerry is talking about job creation and education. The SS is guarding their magic line. My head is pulsing like a strobe light. Dehydrated and sunburnt, many of the crowd is making for the exits. Sen. Kerry wraps up, and I decide to head out too.
It is at this time that I realize I have Disneyland Foot Syndrome. I take off my volunteer creds and abstinence sticker, hobble along with the masses over to Pioneer Place to use their john. A significant share of the rally can be found in the food court. The line for the women's restroom stretches out around the corner, altho the men's room is open. I relieve myself in a rather suspect auto-flush toilet, and head for the #15 bus. Kerry supporters are everywhere. This town is crawling with us. We will win.
The news coverage of the event is singularly awful, beyond pathetic. Thanks to dubya's parallel visit, they're all over his event instead of Kerry's, which they barely cover at all. My wife, watching from her childcare job at home, explained to me that Teresa's herculean oratory was timed to coincide with dubya's presentation in Beaverton, so that there would be some chance of people being able to see both on the news. No such luck. The Portland newscasters are puckering up to kiss bush ass, in a big way, despite the fact that shrub is holding a private fundraiser for a thousand rich repukes while Sen. Kerry is engaged in a Massive Public Happening with well over 50000 people in attendance.
My wife, usually not one to get engaged politically, forced herself to watch bush's speech and THREW UP. She literally lost it and vomitted.
Now I will listen to Mike Malloy and rest my legs, knowing that I've done damn near all I can for the day.
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