I Covered the President and It Was (Kind of) a Dream Come True
I was the nerdy seventh grader who dreamed of being a journalist, listening to the president’s speeches, and covering the circus that is the White House. I would be as stylish as Carrie Bradshaw, as dedicated as Rory Gilmore, as tough as Lois Lane. It would be hard work, seeking truth and righting social wrongs through my reporting, but it would be glamorous, and it would be rewarding.
What I didn’t realize was it would also be cold.
On Monday, I covered the opening ceremony of the Edward M. Kennedy Institute for the United States Senate, where President Barack Obama gave the dedication.
As a 22-year-old journalist, this is pretty much the biggest story I’ve ever covered. I was in the same room as some of the most powerful people in the world. The press pass around my neck was a medal of honor; it felt like a dream come true.
In some ways the dream didn’t measure up to the reality. In others, it kind of did.
Fantasy: Wake up, put on my brown-and-black-belted dress, fill my coffee mug, and hit the road to meet the president.
Reality: Wake up at 5 a.m., put on my brown-and-black-belted dress, spill my coffee, and hit traffic on the way to stare at the president from afar.
Fantasy: Walk into a pressroom bustling with journalists writing stories while reading over their press packets and sipping on steaming Starbucks.
Reality: Walk into a pressroom with free Dunkin Donuts coffee and rumored, but largely missing, WiFi. Steal an unattended press packet from another journalist when he isn’t looking.
Fantasy: Brainstorm a question I’ll ask Obama when he has two minutes to give me an exclusive.
Reality: Brainstorm ways to get within literal shouting distance of the president without getting tackled by secret service agents.
Fantasy: The event is indoors.
Reality: The event is outdoors. In Boston. In March.
Fantasy: My professional and stylish dress would be appropriate for the ceremony.
Reality: I still can’t feel my legs.
Fantasy: I have a front-row seat at the ceremony. One of the “370 Kennedys’’ is sitting next to me.
Reality: I have a front-row seat in the press area. As in, the second to last row; score!
Fantasy: Obama announces his plan for immigration reform during his dedication speech, making the frostbite worth the scoop.
Reality: “This speech is not the time to propose a slew of reforms, although I do have some,’’ Obama said.
Fantasy: I move swiftly out of the event, back across the pressroom. I am first to publish a story on the event, with a direct quote from my new best friend, the President of the United States of America.
Reality: Everyone’s waiting at a bottleneck in the security check tent. At least there are two small heaters nearby. Stupid motorcade. Time to text my quotes to other staffers with actual Internet access.
Fantasy: As I’m leaving to head back to the office, I bump into Vice President Joe Biden. He recognizes me right away for my insightful question to the president, and asks if I would like to get an inside scoop on the national budget over lunch.
Reality: Biden, fresh from a story about naked senators, schmoozes with the dignitaries, even after the president has already left the event, keeping me hostage in the cold tent for another hour and a half. A fellow hostage journalist scavenges for food and splits a turkey sandwich with me.
Fantasy: I covered the President of the United States.
Reality: I covered the President of the United States.
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