As I watched Tuesday’s election results slowly congeal into “official predictions,” it became clear that there was

one big winner and a whole assortment of losers. Ladies and gentlemen, President George W. Bush, love him or hate him, won big on Tuesday.

Of course, being Republican, I share a certain amount of happiness here. Not as though anything will change (oh come on, you know better than to argue otherwise), but still, the home team scored a touchdown.

In between watching election results, I flipped to HBO to catch bits of Alexandra Pelosi’s “Journey’s with George” – her home video taken of then-Texas Gov. Bush during the 2000 presidential primary and election. Indeed, it was a Bush the 43rd love fest in my room on Tuesday night; this coming from a guy who voted for John McCain twice in 2000.

While watching Pelosi’s movie (yes, she’s the daughter of the House Minority Whip Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.), so not an impartial girl), I couldn’t help but glance at a picture I have of my White House intern class from last spring. Us and Dubya. Ahh . the memories.

I prayed the night before our meet and greet with Bush that “the right thing happen.” That’s really a catchall prayer, and I highly recommend it if you are at a loss of things to pray for. If I meet him, great, cool. If I don’t, fine. I truly felt that way, so I went to the White House the next day rather calm and relaxed. I was just happy to be getting out of my psychology class.

Our intern coordinator gathered us outside the White House and laid down the ground rules: no autographs, no mugging the president, be civil. With those rules firmly in mind, we begin to walk: across the East Wing, across a side entrance past a heavily armed guard and then to the South Portico.

Our coordinator had said that he’d randomly placed people on the South Portico based on the intern offices, and he did. My office, Presidential Personnel, got a pretty good location. I saw the groundskeepers roll a big metal circle painted orange and white, telling Marine Force One exactly where to land.

I realized at that point that Bush was making this a multitasking event. Meet the interns, and then take off for Camp David.

So there we stood, making sure not to cross the rubber mat to our right. That is where President Bush will enter, we are told. “So don’t give the Secret Service a reason to shoot you, eh?” was the implied message. Being the scofflaw that I am, I inched my way around in an effort to get as close to the mat as possible.

I kept my eyes on the door behind me – the door right below the Truman Balcony. A White House usher was now standing there in a snazzy white outfit – it looked like Bush would use that door. Inch, inch, inch.

Marine Force One came in slowly for a landing, blowing all sorts of White House particles up in our faces. I wanted to breath it all in (physically), and I did, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Apparently, the trick is to avoid looking at helicopters when they land, or you will get those particles, White House or other, in your eyes. Ah yes, the things I should have learned long ago.

The door behind me was now propped open, but I didn’t see Bush. I did, however, see a hanger with clothes and a protective bag around it, and a laminated, plastic tag “The President.” Cute. He’s not even George W. Bush to his underwear.

I was so busy looking at the door behind me that I was startled when the other 90 or so interns begin to clap. Bush was coming out from the Oval Office, kind of sauntering, not in any real hurry, just walking along in a perfectly fitted, gray suit.

I moved closer to the forbidden mat. What were they going to do, move me when he’s out there? Yes, probably, but I didn’t care.

He walks onto the mat, looks at me and we shake hands. He said something; I never remember what important people say, and my big word, my big response to the leader of the free world – “Hi.” He kept looking at me like he was expecting more, but it didn’t come, so he kept shaking hands.

The photographer took a few shots, Bush yelled out “thank you all for working here,” and then, he’s off, walking toward Marine Force One. He gets on the chopper, says something to the pilots and away they went.

On the way out, I made sure to grab my mom a flower from the Rose Garden. I was pretty sure Laura Bush wouldn’t miss it.

Adam Jones is a junior in the College and can be reached at jonesthehoya.com. Point of Order appears every other Friday.

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