I was not immune to free buttons.

Once we were allowed in, two staffers at the door were checking our names off electronic lists on their phones. Directly in front of us was a table spread with buttons and stickers. “Help yourself!” staffers exclaimed. “Though… just one button, please!”

I took a Trans Pride button for Pete. This is for you, Jack!

The room was fairly empty.

There were a handful of standing tables dotted around the room and a bar near the entrance. An alcove on the side later proved to lead to bathrooms.

The Vault was much warmer than The Exchange. This would later become an issue.

Amelia, the child too young to drink.

There were no tables close to the stage, and big pillars blocking the view from some angles. One of my readers, Georganna, and I staked out the closest table off to the side, giving us an unobstructed view.

While the room was empty.

The actual vault.

In the back corner was the actual, original bank vault. I did not approach. I wasn’t sure if the area back there was some sort of staging area, and I didn’t want to go somewhere I shouldn’t be.

It was still a very heavy door. I bet that’s where they kept all the big checks.

I was warned about this…

Servers started circling with trays of hors d’oeuvres. Immediately, my corruption senses began tingling.

That’s why a few of our opponents are spending most of the weekend hopping from one high-dollar fundraiser to the next; holding expensive hors d’oeuvres with one hand while gobbling up fat checks with the other. Over and over again. — Faiz Shakir, Campaign Manager, Bernie 2020

This email of Sanders’ was from the end of June, but I’m sure the corruption was the same. I decided to attempt to be a candidate. The first tray that passed, with veggie tarts, I accepted one. I immediately had to request a napkin to contain the flaky pastry. How was I supposed to gobble up a fat check if both my hands were full!?

This is how they get you…

One excellent server agreed to let me photograph the bribery from politician to wealthy donors. Look at those individual shrimp cups! Disgraceful. (They were very good.)

Veggie tarts. Shrimp cocktails. Crab cakes. Little rolled up things. All of these hors d’oeuvres were free to me, a wealthy donor. No one asked if I was a $250 donor or a $2,800 donor. In fact, what I got asked the most was my name, and how I learned about Mayor Pete.

That’s right. These mega donors were all enjoying themselves, grinning, laughing, introducing themselves to perfect strangers and old friends, sharing stories about Pete and why they loved him.

We’re filling up.

The crowd was picking up, and the noise level was climbing. Those high ceilings were beautiful, but not acoustically pleasing. With the crowd also came body heat. Accumulated heat. Georganna rescued me by fetching another virgin rum and Coke from the bar for me.

A staffer came around collecting things we wanted signed. I wrote my name on a BTE card and tucked it into my copy of Shortest Way Home while Georganna attempted to butter the staffer up with a bribe. He hesitated, but no. No, he couldn’t accept.

She offered me the bribe as well.

Georganna is from Ohio.

My ethics were not as strong as the Pete for America staffer collecting books.

So many awesome people here!

Breana Micou, South Bend Organizer for Pete, came over to the table with her sister, @AJ_Indiana. Also with us was Ellen Marks, running for Congress in Indiana’s 2nd District (South Bend’s district), and her Finance Director, Kimberly. Ellen dressed in purple to match her campaign colors, which I can absolutely approve of. She and Kimberly were very interested in campaign emails. I highly encourage my readers who enjoy throwing their money around to go to her campaign website, linked above, and throw her some cash to unseat Republican Jackie Walorski!

The room was growing warmer and warmer. Georganna shed her jacket, but the attire was business casual, and beneath my snazzy leather jacket was just a t-shirt. A Mayor Pete’s Explorer’s Club t-shirt from those early days of his campaign, but still, just a t-shirt. One Coke was not enough to offset the building heat, so I took Georganna’s drink order (and her money) and headed toward the bar.

Yes. Money. Because in this high-dollar donor fundraiser, it was not an open bar. Soft drinks were $2 each. Bottled water, it would turn out, was $1 each. And I had used the last of my cash at the bar outside with my first virgin rum and Coke.

There wasn’t so much a line as a light crush. I wove through the crowd, trying to avoid running into people, trying to judge the people who were just talking and the people who were at the bar waiting for a drink. There was a short man in a blue jacket who looked like Chasten Buttigieg, but snazzified. Next to him was a man in a white button down shirt and a blue tie. For some reason, they had their arms around a third person and another person had a camera and HOLY CRAP I NEARLY WALKED STRAIGHT INTO THE BUTTIGIEGS.

Your picture would be blurry too if you forced your legs to stop abruptly while holding cash and suddenly having a brain reboot.

They were smiling and laughing, their picture was done and they both turned to me.

Pete Buttigieg’s eyes are VERY intense when he’s looking at you. And his handshake is firm. (Maybe a touch too firm. Not like squeeze your hand off that some guys do, but just… tight. But only for a moment. It wasn’t too long.)

Pete complimented me on my “vintage” t-shirt. I think I thanked him. I told him that I was a political blogger about presidential candidate emails, and Chasten wrote the best emails. I looked at Chasten. His smile is blinding. He thanked me. I told Pete his supporters had raised the money to send me here, and Pete’s smile grew a little bigger and he declared that awesome. I handed Chasten my card, and he said “Oh, I’ve heard of this!” (Or maybe he said he’d read it?) I thanked them, they thanked me, a woman who was controlling the crowd around them thanked me and urged them on, and I turned to the left to get in the drink line.

That’s when I started trembling. Just a little. THAT HAD JUST HAPPENED, AND I HADN’T COMPLETELY BOTCHED IT.

I did botch the drink order. You don’t pay by putting the money in the tip jar, and the bartender looks VERY confused if you pull money out of the tip jar to pay.

Two bottles of cold water later, I scurried back to Georganna. “I JUST LITERALLY RAN INTO MAYOR PETE.”

She bemoaned the fact that she let me go to get the drinks this time.

That’s the back of Pete’s head in the middle.

As people realized that Pete was in the room, the crowd started to congregate around him. He and Chasten worked through them effortlessly, shaking hands, taking pictures, smiling and laughing and genuinely enjoying themselves. Georganna left to get better pictures with them, while I stayed and took pictures from the sidelines like a creeper.

Eventually, they made their way to the stage.