The Scarlett Letter

I’m not quite sure what it stands for (a cross between Adultery and Arugala, perhaps?), but the letter "A" has been permanently affixed to my breast.

Let me explain. The source of my shame dates back to 2 Jan 2008, when I volunteered for Barack Obama at a pre-caucus "Stand for Change" rally in Coralville, IA (task: cajoling attendees into signing in and revealing who they intended to caucus for). Before the event, two rumors began to circulate: (1) that, after his speech, Obama would pose for a group photo and individually shake hands with all volunteers; and (2) that actress Scarlett Johansson would simultaneously give a post-rally "stump speech" before a small group of local college students.

If rumor turned to fact, I realized that a terribly conflicting decision would await me: I could meet Johansson, whose breathtaking performance in 2003's Lost in Translation made a heavy-hearted then-22-year-old want to love again; or meet Obama, whose intellectual yet inspiring rhetoric made a cynical then-26-year-old want to hope again.

By the time the actual speech concluded, it had become apparent that both rumors were true. As I anxiously paced the corridors of the Coralville Marriott Hotel & Conference Center—suffering within from a fierce tête-à-tête between passion and reason—I was reminded of a certain Seinfeld episode involving a chess scene.

But just then, fate intervened. Having aimlessly stumbled into a random conference room, I looked up to behold a small group of eager-looking, predominantly male college students—their eyes fixed upon a rather nondescript closed door. Sure enough, Ms Johansson walked through. With one glance at her beauty, it was settled: I would not be meeting Senator Obama.

Fleeting thrill, forever regret
I do not remember much of what Ms Johansson had to say. This is largely because she did not turn out to be the most, say, captivating of public speakers (e.g., to paraphrase: “I’m supporting Barack because he like, you know, wants to stop global warming”), but also because I spent the better part of her speech nervously texting seven of my friends the following note:

Im in a room with scarlet johannsen right now. She is stumping 4 Obama. She is way cuter in person.

In response to this text (surely the most obnoxious $1.40 I’ve ever spent), one friend (code name: "DJ The Pleiades") quite rightly responded with a well-known, two-word phrase perhaps unsuitable for Mic’s Tape (suffice it to say it's an anagram for "Yuck UFO!"). Looking back, said text response was certainly deserved, but it was also redundant; in other words, I had already screwed myself...

For that one fleeting moment, lost as I was in Ms Johansson's smoky voice, I did not question my decision. But eleven long months of sober mornings-after have brought the weight of my actions into sharp, inescapable focus: I could had met the future President-elect, but I blew it.

As I look in the mirror and see this Scarlett Letter staring back at me, I accept what I have become. But what I cannot accept is for even one of you to repeat my mistake. Thus, readers, hear my plea: if forced to choose between Potential Presidency or Certain Celebrity, please, please, please let your cooler head prevail!