Raise a Glass to the Tired CampaignersBy Michael Powell
The New York Times
May 6, 2008, 7:40 pm
In the last hours of yet another election day — the 42nd? The 44th? Did I miss the trip to American Samoa? The Obama campaign turned to drink in North Carolina.
Barack Obama spent half an hour or so working the neighborhood of Downtown Raleigh, and more to the point a bar called The Raleigh Times (Want a metaphor for our business? This was the site of the now-departed Raleigh Times. No inebriated editor types immediately visible). He walked in, hand in hand with Michelle; she was more or less immediately handed a pint of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Mr. Obama found himself momentarily beerless. As the primary season has semi-bizarrely centered of late on his eating and drinking (he stands accused of doing too little of either), he moved quickly.
“Where’s my beer?” he asked, loud enough for the reporters to hear. What’s your pleasure, Mr. Candidate? He eyed an array of mighty fine micro brews on tap, from the loverly amber Maharaja IPA to the “naturally cloudy” Blanche Bruxelles. He zeroed in on the mass market. “PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon, for the unitiated),” he said.
An Illinois man recently asked to be buried in a casket in the shape of a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, but I digress. Mr. Obama held up the pint, said “Cheers!” and quickly took a sip, then another, then another. Having established he was a sport — albeit not an inebriated one — he set to working the crowd.
He talked the economy with a banker and a business woman and then turned to the very perky Allison Humphries, who wore an Obama button. She was “in sales” and set about trying to convince him to order up a beautiful set of counter-tops for the White House. What kind do they have at the White House, she asked. Mr. Obama squinted at her, and shrugged. “I really don’t know what kind of countertops we have there,” he said. “That’s waaaaay out of my depth.”
He moved away; she shook her head. “He thinks I’m kidding …”
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