Obamaramafeefifofama

“Christina, do you know what time it is?!” my roommate squeals. She has that tone in her voice. That tone my mother used that time I slept through three days of school. That tone of worry and slight panic that can easily imply that an alarm has failed me and I have once again snoozed my way through something important.
I look at my cell phone. Just as I suspected; my alarm has been repeatedly sounding off since 7:00 A.M. Nutcrackers. I have practically slept through the Inauguration. I am the worst American ever! I should change my name to Benedict Arnold! I should be banished! I should .. zzzzz.
“Christina!” My roommate brings me back out of my mental spiral, urges me out of bed, and pushes me toward my closet. Twenty minutes and twenty-eight layers of clothes later, we waddle down to the Metro station, which, much to our dismay, is packed with about a hundred other people who apparently slept through their alarms, too.
There is general chaos as Metro rookies attempt to get through the partition by shoving dollar bills in the card slot. Not okay. I hear trains come and go and kick myself at the thought of all the people getting to the Inauguration before me. How will ever get to hug Oprah if there are Metro trains full of people in front of me?!
There is no room to sit on the Metro. I stand among the array of Bedazzled Obama merchandise and wonder why I am even bothering. By the time I would get to the Mall, Obama would be sworn in and there would be an estimated 2.5 million people between me and Yo-Yo Ma. Could I handle the disappointment? I will be the first to admit, I am a very jealous person, and I knew if Aretha Franklin decided not to dedicate her first musical number to me, well, I might just fly right off the handle.
We stumble onto the platform at Judiciary Square only to be met by (surprise!) more people. I try hard not to hyperventilate until we are out of the station into the open air. People swarm around us, trying to push into lines for closed security check-points. I feel defeat cloud my eyes but I’m determined not to cry within a mile-radius of Beyoncé. Just in case.
Though waiting in a line seems like the diplomatic thing to do, my roommate and I continue to wander through the city, keeping our ears open for any sign of nearby speakers. We see groups crowded around restaurant windows, trying to get a glance at the TVs inside, but we trudge on, hoping to find a hole in the fence or even just a megatron showing what’s going on.
A little bit after noon, we hear cheering. The people that crowd the streets hug each other, thank God out loud, and wave American flags like they are pom poms. Obama has been sworn in, and the streets are full of joy.
I smile and remember why I wanted to go to the Inauguration in the first place. My roommate and I find a clear place along the fence on F Street. We can hear Obama’s voice, loud clear, and confident, echoing from the speakers on the Mall. Everyone around us has taken a break from celebrating to listen with respect. I lean against the fence and am relieved. Things feel right. Of course there are 2.5 million people on the Mall: this is an historic day! Whether or not they voted for Obama, how glorious is it that everyone came just to show America’s new top dog some support?!
Obama finishes his speech and the partying starts up again. I turn to my roommate and know that she’s thinking the same thing: we need to celebrate. So we do the most American thing we can think of: we eat McDonald’s. And the rest…
Is history.