My Obama Story

I wasn’t always politically aware. I went a long time making people think I was political when I couldn’t have cared less.That changed in the summer of 2007 when my dad asked me for a favor. I was irrevocably thrown into the mix of the world in August of that year by showing up to something I had no business being at and basically getting a story I couldn’t quite make up if I really wanted to.

I preface this by saying, quite frankly, that I don’t care even a little bit if you believe me or not.

In case I haven’t mentioned it before, I am the third in my family. Meaning Victor Joseph Dupuy, III. Usually I don’t like saying my full name because it sounds snobby. It makes me sound proper and aristocratic. But the name has benefited me in a few ways over the years. My father has always had a good reputation in my hometown and surrounding area, so I get looked upon with the same basic good standing. My dad travels a fair amount for business, so I get to use his frequent flyer miles at times. I get his hotel points occasionally. One time I almost tried to use his global entry ID at the airport, though it wouldn’t have been worth it if I’d gotten caught (and prosecuted).

So in 2007, when my dad made a contribution to Barack Obama’s political campaign, he was invited to a dinner in Dallas where Barack was to speak to the group. My dad had a business trip he needed to go on, so he asked if I could sit in for him. You know, so it could be on record that Victor Joseph Dupuy attended the event.

I was hesitant to agree to this. I was not political. At 20, I did everything I could to avoid discussing the subject in most cases. I didn’t care, most of the time. I usually just assumed either party would get about the same amount done: not too much. But I knew who Barack was. I had studied a speech of his in a college course the year before. I didn’t idolize him or anything, but he seemed like a good guy. I understood him to be a sports fan, to know much about coming up in a mixed background, and to be willing to try something different that others hadn’t. Regardless, I was just in no rush to meet him. I was still very happy with apathy.

On the other hand, it was a free meal, a relief of boredom, and it meant I got to cruise around a big city in my dad’s Benz. So I said, screw it, let’s head up to Dallas for the afternoon.

I was supposed to meet one of my dad’s friends, who we'll call Charlie Nantucket. Sure, why not?. Mr. Nantucket was my dad’s age, lived in the next town, had the same basic spot in life as my dad. Main difference is that Charlie had 2 sons a few years younger than me. By and large, my dad and Charlie competed with each other all the time about stupid things. And one of the competing factors were his sons vs. me, my dad’s son. Who’s the better athlete? Who’s the better student? Who’s gonna go farther faster? Blah. To be honest, I didn’t like Mr. Nantucket at this point, he always critical of me, like he had to demonstrate how I was overrated for one thing or another. But I’ll get to that in a second.

I strolled in there nervous, because the ride was so much fun but I did have to make this appearance in an atmosphere I really didn’t enjoy. I showed up there already kind of sweating, not wanting to reach or flinch too quickly because secret service would already be around this guy, but I’m there. I showed up, let’s just get it done. And I couldn’t find a parking space for a while, and that was annoying, and then I got in the hotel and it was massive, as in it was unnecessarily big, even in Texas. I remember thinking there was no way that this many people would need to all stay in the same place in Dallas, this was too much. But I finally found the elevators I was looking for, and I entered the place in the hotel I was supposed to go. It was relatively discreet, considering who was appearing. But again, it's 2007. He's on everyone's radar as a candidate but no one knew how serious of a chance he had yet.

Mr. Nantucket was near the front of the foyer area when I got off the elevator, so I walked right up to him. Trying to find a finally familiar face. And this dude, this prick doesn’t even say hello to me, he just starts with, “Victor, you need to go fix your tie.” Now, I had half a mind to kind of get pissed at him right there, just kind of calling me out in front of people I don’t know. I did my best to play it off, but I was miffed. I was in an unfamiliar environment and apparently I hadn’t dressed myself properly for the occasion. Wasn’t a good feeling.

I hurriedly rushed in, looking for the men's bathroom. I probably looked frantic, like I was about to burst open at the bladder. Didn’t care, I just needed to fix this. I was here as a conduit for my dad, I didn’t need him up my ass later about tying ties properly, that was gonna be a lecture I really didn't need.

I find the bathroom and bust in, almost kicking the door open. I mean, I was almost hyped up because I was so angry. I go over to the rows of sinks ahead and find a mirror right in the middle. it’s a dark, elegant looking bathroom with dimmed lights, and in the mirror I can see the stalls behind me have ornate doors to them, the kind you’d find at a dressing room at the Mens Wearhouse. That’s the bathroom setting. So as I’m struggling with this tie, I feel even more out of place than I really need to. The room was empty when I burst in there, or at least I was sure it was. All I could here was my own breathing, myself cussing under my breath, and the sounds that my clothes were making as I struggled back and forth to get this damn thing the right length and style.

Behind me, I hear one of the stalls open. I should be nervous or startled, but I’m so deep in this that i don’t give a fuck. Zero fucks given. I’m still fixing this tie situation, and I’m doing the thing where first the front is way too long, and then the back is just long enough to do it over, and then it’s too long again, then it’s okay but tied incorrectly, I’m doing that thing with my tie. Foot steps behind me up to the sink next to me, I don’t care, I don't even acknowledge them. And a voice says, “Hi there.” And I turn, to be polite, and say, “Hey, what’s up,” and look at the person next to me for a split second before continuing to fix this tie situation. I mean, this is really starting to frustrate me that I can’t just get this damn thing to...wait, wait a second… did i see that right?

I kind of freeze in terror because I’m replaying the image I have mentally of the person that I just saw. I think that’s what Barack Obama would look like up close, in a dimly lit bathroom. I should probably look again, to confirm that was him.

I look back a second time. Yep. That’s him.

This presents a problem. I am next to the potential future president of the United States of America. I could ask him something that would change my life if he gave me the right answer. I could make a mark on him that could shift the world, shift life as we know it here. I could get a little tidbit, some great memory for the rest of my life and my family’s lives. And here I am with this goddamn tie still ruining my life.

So I begin again to fix this thing or hang myself with it, whichever ends up being easier. Now I’m really frustrated and REALLY pissed off at Mr. Nantucket. And suddenly, it seems to come out of nowhere, “Having some trouble there?”

I almost forgot Barack Obama was still there. “Uhh, no, no, it’s just, sometimes I have a little issue with my ties,” I’m reaching for anything plausible to not seem completely helpless right now.

“Well just flip your collar up for a second.”

My heart basically stops as this man reaches out, flips up my collar, turns my body towards him (while only using my collar) and starts tying my tie for me. I am dumbfounded. I have no idea what to do here. I felt like I should be able to tell anyone in this situation, hey, back off, I can tie this damn thing myself. But I don’t want the Secret Service agents to come out of another stall, refer to a code 6, and escort me into a back room somewhere nearby where I am beaten the hell down in the name of national security. So I just kind of stand there, paralyzed, not knowing exactly where to look, not knowing what to do with my hands. Damn sure didn’t know what kind of conversation to try to strike up now. Quickly, I glanced up at him, unsure if he was noting how strange I looked. I think he cracked a quick smile, but I couldn’t be sure.

So he asks me, “What’s your name?”

And I say, “Uh, Victor.”

I then opened my mouth to say the most embarrassing thing I think I could ever say, which was going to be, “What’s yours?” The future president of the United States, and I was an instant from asking him his name. But I caught myself. And part of me wants to know what that would’ve gone like. Part of me wants to know if he would have taken some offense to it, and stepped back and been like, “Fuck you then, fix your own tie,” or if he would just politely say who he was and then not made me feel like a jackass. Maybe he would have looked me dead in my eye and said, “Nigga, please.” Any of them would have been awesome. Anyway, he dropped some knowledge bomb on me about Windsor knots, since it appears that was what I had attempted in my first stab at tying the tie. I’d love to tell you the quote, but I can’t remember. I was way too bewildered. But that’s the subject I spoke with the president-to-be about. Not the economy, not foreign policy, not being perceived by your peers as an outsider who had plans to try things differently, not basketball or college football. Fucking Windsor knots. Dear lord.

He finishes tying the tie, he admires his work, then he slaps me on the right shoulder, announces, “You’re straight, brotha,” and walks out of the room. Couldn’t make that shit up. He slapped me on the shoulder like I was some little kid in his family. I had to fight the urge not to say, “Thanks dad,” as he left the bathroom. After the door closed, I just kind of slumped down onto one of the counters, completely incredulous that anything like that could ever happen to me. I now had to collect myself in this bathroom AGAIN. The luck I have in public bathrooms.

At some point, I straighten up and walk out of there, feeling like I’m fleeing the scene of a crime. I shuffled over to the bar, and grabbed a mimosa, I didn’t care that I was underage, I needed a drink right then and there. A few of the kids my age or younger came over and chatted with me, and I did my best to keep calm. i didn’t share the story with them, didn’t even bother. In fact, Mr. Nantucket came up to me a bit later, asking me where I had been and saying he was going to introduce me to Mr. Obama. I just played it off like, "Oh, man, that's too bad, maybe next time." Little did this guy know he had already set me up for a story I'd never be able to forget, that I hadn’t quite processed myself yet. But again, I just kept that to myself.

Barack Obama worked the room for a little while after that and then got up onto a little makeshift stage to speak to the crowd. I’ll never forget it, as he’s scanning the crowd, while someone else is introducing him, he spots me near the back, finishing my mimosa. He makes eye contact with me, pretends to straighten his tie, and gives me this nod, as if to say, “Man, your tie looks good. Whoever tied that knows a thing or two about ties.”

That was basically the moment when I knew he had my vote. And it was nothing political in this case, I suppose. It was honestly, I felt like I got a glimpse of the actual man, even if it was actually bullshit. In my mind, this wasn’t a guy who needed to sell me on who he was or what he believed in. He was perfectly content with messing with me just a little bit, the way I feel I’ve usually messed with people in my life. But I knew that I would not have the chance to meet other leaders in our country the same way, and I needed to be able to have more to say about politicians I supported than, "that dude knows his Windsor knots."

So from that point on, I tried to make sure I had some sort of idea what I was talking about, politically speaking. I won't say that I'm an expert by any stretch, but I am definitely engaged and willing to discuss the issues with others who can talk about what they want, rather than yell and not listen. I think people should actually seek out at least somepeople with opposing views, to help clarify where they stand, but if you can't talk with those people about the issues, there isn't much of a point, is there. Although I consider myself a moderate, I’ve always had liberal tendencies and I probably always will. But I make it a point to be open to new ideas, new perspectives, experiences, and when necessary, letting someone help you get dressed up for a political party.