Elevator Bob and I got to be buddies during my many rides up to the 7th floor. He took care of me, making sure people scooted over and let me and my big bin of signs on. At one point two of us had bins in the elevator. We stopped at a floor, but there was no room for the people waiting. Bob told the folks he’d be right back. A man waiting mumbled something. Bob turned to my colleague and I. “What’d he say?” My colleague immediately responded, “He said, ‘Yankees suck!’” Bob laughed and said, “A good man, he is. I’ll take care of him.”

One of the best things about the Convention was being there for sound checks in the morning. Many of the speakers simply did mic checks, “One, two, three,…” but the performers did a full on rehearsal. Walking straight up to the stage and experiencing Patti LaBelle, John Mellencamp, the violinist who performed an absolutely stunning rendition of Amazing Grace, the Japanese drummers, the Middle School Drum and Fife Corps,… pretty awesome.

They weren’t boxed. 3000 “I’m a Healthcare Voter” folded signs, stacked in a corner of our headquarters, the Boiler Room, bundled randomly with strips of shrink wrap. This made them difficult to carry and even more difficult to stage. We did our best. We stacked them high in two piles. They were on the schedule for Wednesday but weren’t used. Thursday morning we needed more room in the staging areas for Thursday night’s signs. As I was surveying the area, a man walking by shouted, “Watch out!” I turned just in time to see a thousand signs avalanche towards me. I jumped back, narrowly avoiding being buried. They slammed into my shins, right at the area where there is the least amount of fat, muscle, or skin. The tears welled up in my eyes, but there was no time to cry. I was almost maimed by the healthcare signs. Go figure.

We had a 2-4 minute time frame to distribute 5,000 signs. I ran from section to section, passing out bundles as quickly as possible to the people in the end seats, asking them to take one and pass them down. Several people volunteered to help pass them out in each section, which made my job much easier. I ran up the stairs, trying to get to the top as fast as possible, making sure the people in the nose bleed seats got their fair share of signs as well. A woman stood up, reached over, touched my shoulder and said, “You’re the hottest Visibility Whip I’ve ever seen. You go, girl.” At first I was startled until I noticed it was a friend from San Francisco. Then I simply laughed.

It seems that a lot of the men volunteers here are in uniform. You can tell the politico wannabes. Khaki pants, crisply pressed solid colored shirt (usually white or blue), conservative tie, and… a baseball hat.

Eavesdropping on a conversation between two colleagues discussing a mutual acquaintance:

Person 1: She’s one crazy lady.

Person 2: (pondering) Yes, she is an interesting woman…

“Ask Lori…”

My ears perked up. I’ve generally volunteered for just about any task since I’ve been here. I wondered what adventure this next task would hold.

“Do you want an extra ticket to the Red Sox/Yankees game?”

Oh, yeah…

Minutes later Ben, Ben, and I were on the T headed to Fenway Park. We entered Gate C amongst throngs of people. We were jostled up to our bleacher seats, squeezing in among the other Kerry campaigners. Everyone was in high spirits. We were at Fenway Park – simply magic.

R. sat to the right of me. Every time a fellow staffer walked by he shouted their name. “Bruno! My man! What’s up, Bruno?” “Margaret! Hey, buy me a beer, babe. I’ll pay you back.” “Tom in the house!” Will you just watch the game?

His cell phones (yes, plural) rang no less than a dozen times in the first inning. After one of the calls he turned to me. “I am so getting some ass tonight.” I thought I must have heard wrong. “Everyone calls me. Everyone wants into the parties. They say, ‘Hey, R., can you get me into this party?’ and I say, ‘Are you putting out tonight? Yeah, I’ll see about those tickets.” I simply stared.

Outrageous conversations continued until the top of the 8th, when he mysteriously left without saying good-bye to anyone.

Ahhh, politics.

I’ve only been here less than 48 hours but I feel like I’ve worked a week. I’ve checked for boxes of signs. I’ve counted how many rally placards have arrived. I’ve checked in volunteers. I’ve helped orient new volunteers. I’ve proofread and corrected briefs. I’ve unloaded a truck. I’ve stacked boxes. I’ve phoned volunteers. I’ve made signs. And gotten lost in the Fleet Center no less than a dozen times.

I’ve learned what it means to be a Visibility Whip. We are literally shaping visibility on the convention floor. Four days and over 100,000 signs later, you’ll know what I mean.

Before heading to the Fleet Center I stopped at a drugstore to buy an umbrella (because it was pouring down rain), a box of Band-Aids (in anticipation of blisters I would develop over the week) and hair mousse (to give my hair a bit of body in this humid climate). Big mistake.

Security Man: (shaking his head as he fingered my umbrella) Not allowed.

Me: Ugh. Are you serious? I’ve only owned it for an hour.

SM: Going in here (pointing to trash bin full of umbrellas).

Me: Shrug.

SM: (as he looks through my CVS bag) Or this (shake of head while isolating hair mousse I just purchased). No aerosols.

Me: Dude. That’s not an aerosol. That’s mousse. Like this. Sssshhhhhhhh.

SM: No hair products, ma’am. It’s going in here (pointing to real trash can).

Me: Can’t you at least put it there (pointing to trash can with all the umbrellas). Don’t totally throw it away.

SM: You’ll come back for it later?

Me: Totally. Thanks.

Later Bryan commented on how the security guard was flirting with me.

Flirting? What? You’re joking, right? I thought he just didn’t know the difference between aerosols and mousses…

I tried to sleep. Between the middle seat, exit row (hence no reclining), and the three infants seated in close proximity, it just wasn’t to happen. I arrived to Boston exhausted. And surprised. I looked out the window. Rain. Pouring, steady, can’t see 10 feet in front of you rain. I was dumbfounded. How could this be? I had not anticipated rain. No umbrella. No slicker. No long sleeves. Hm.

I arrived to my hotel. “Sorry, ma’am, your room won’t be ready for another 5 hours.” Oh. But all I want to do is sleep. Just a little sleep. That’s all.

I called Bryan. “Come on over to the Fleet Center. We could use some extra help.” So I did. And entered an entirely different world.