'Everywhere I Look, People Are Eating Hot Dogs': RNC With My Trump Delegate Dad

About two months ago I received a curious email from my father. The subject line read, "Ever Been To Cleveland?" The body of the email merely said, "Do I have a proposition for you!"

Later that same week, over dinner, he revealed that he was attending the Republican National Convention as a New York State delegate for Donald Trump and that he was allowed one guest, should I be interested in attending. I definitely was.

There is no question that this election has been the most enthralling one of my lifetime. It is difficult to turn away when candidates are, mid-debate, discussing the size of their penises. The problem, of course, has become that my disdain for Donald Trump is complicated by my appetite for the outrageous. My own political opinions aside, I would not miss the Yuge Trump Convention Extravaganza for anything.

My father's feelings about Donald Trump, I suspect, are a touch more nuanced. I cannot say with any real certainty that I know exactly where my father falls on the political scale. This is a man who donates money to the New York State Republican Party merely because he takes umbrage with the fact that it is a one-party town. He usually self-identifies as a Libertarian, though I think he is generally apprehensive to identify as anything. He was, up until this primary season, not a registered Republican. My sneaking suspicion is that my father wants to attend for the same reason I do: to witness the spectacle. How can you blame us?

Sunday, July 17, 2016: The Day Before the Convention

1:15 pm
Wheels down in Cleveland, baby. I have arrived! My father has decided to drive and so will not be arriving for a few hours. For some reason, I am a bit nervous. I text my friend, who is also in Cleveland, "How long do I have to wait before I can start drinking?" He replies, "The second you enter the airport." This is going to be a disaster.

1:55 pm
My Uber driver laughs when I tell him that my father is a Donald Trump delegate—a guttural belly laugh. When he regains his composure, he apologizes. I say he doesn't need to. We both laugh.

2:30 pm
The New York State Republican Party check-in suite is on the third floor of the Renaissance Cleveland Hotel. They seem confused when I walk in, as I do not fit the bill. To paint a picture for you: I'm wearing leather pants, black boots, a black t-shirt, and I have a nose ring. I look like an alien standing in this room.

When I walk up to the delegate's guest check-in table, say my name, and present my identification, I receive several badges, nearly incomprehensible instructions on how and when to wear them, two New York State Republican Party pins, and an invite to the Rock The Night in Cleveland welcome party tonight. I am then ushered to the neighboring table to get my complimentary tote bag and t-shirt.

The man at the tote bag table tells me to wait a moment while he exchanges the t-shirt from a large to a medium. I make a joke about how he probably was not expecting a dainty young lady like me, and he says the party needs more people like me. He clarifies, "And by that, I mean women. We need women."

I am already exhausted.

2:46 pm
My room won't be ready for two hours, so I am sitting in the lobby of the hotel. Fox News is playing on four massive screens all around me. John Kasich will not suspend open carry laws in Cleveland for the week. My stomach tightens. I've grown up around responsible gun owners and would typically not be so perturbed by this news, except the world is falling apart, and everyone everywhere seems to be a psychopath.

So far I've noticed four Lily Pulitzer dresses, and I stopped counting the red ties when I hit 12.

4:03 pm
Gayle King is here! She is wearing yellow! Is Gayle King a Republican? I'm really out of touch.

6:45 pm
My delegate father has arrived.

7:00 pm
I go with my dad back to the third floor so that he can check in and pick up his delegate credentials. He gets so much more swag than I did. His gift bag, a tote reading MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN, contains two MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN hats, two MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN shirts, two MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN plastic cups, two MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN pins, and a letter from The Donald.

He also gets a DELEGATE medal lapel pin. When he asks when he should wear it, the woman dispensing the gift bags replies, "Whenever you want. I'd never wear that thing."

11:59 pm
It turns out I have the adjoining room to the New York State Delegation Party Suite. Here's a free tip: the walls at the Renaissance Cleveland Hotel are paper-thin. I had no idea Republicans were this rowdy and loud. They are not using their indoor voices. They are screaming.

They've been drinking in there for hours with no end in sight; I wonder if the New York State Republican party stuck me in this room because I am 25 and they thought I might be chill about all the noise. I can hear my father snoring from the other adjacent room. I wonder whether Chris Christie will show up tomorrow morning and, if so, what he will eat for breakfast.

Monday, July 18th, 2016: Convention Day 1

8:00 am
Good morning, Cleveland! Good morning, Newt Gingrich! I am sitting in the banquet hall of our hotel, where the mandatory breakfast meeting is in underway. Between the delegates, the alternates, and their guests, there are about 500 people in this room.

I am introduced to a lovely and peppy woman named Betsy. Betsy has bright pink nails, and she's a riot. She has also brought her daughter along, but her daughter decided to sleep in and skip breakfast. Smart girl.

Betsy, I learn, really loves Trump. Strangely, that does not seem to be the general vibe. It appears that most of these folks are just conceding to the inevitability of the Trump nomination. I had yet to speak to someone who presents themselves as a die-hard Trump fan; Betsy is my first.

The headliner of this breakfast is Newt Gingrich, who will be delivering a speech on today's theme, "Make America Safe Again." Newt is so much cuter in person, in that he resembles a beach ball. He walks in the room and, after shaking many hands, takes a seat at the table next to mine. Ed Cox, the chairman of the New York State Republican State Committee, appears on stage and delivers a glowing introduction All the while my eyes are on Newt. He looks despondent, to say the least.

His demeanor shifts when he gets up on stage—he becomes immediately more personable, although he does use a strange analogy equating terrorists to wolves, the US Government to sheep, and himself to a guard dog. The analogy gets muddy when—and I'm paraphrasing—he explains that the sheep are also victims of terrorism, and that sheep cannot say that the wolves are wolves because that would compromise their role as sheep, but that guard dogs are prepared to be tough against wolves. I don't exactly follow. He also says that Donald Trump does not drink coffee, which I am not sure is public knowledge.

Chris Christie is not here. Damn it.

1:00 pm
My father and I have parted ways after briefly getting lost in a casino next to the Quicken Loans Arena. He is heading to the floor of the convention to sit with the other delegates, whereas my credentials sequester me to the nosebleed seats.

Quicken Loans Arena looks spectacular. The stage looks like Voltron meets The Hunger Games meets the WWE. It is fabulously over the top in the most perfectly Donald Trump type of way. It's yuge. The parts not seen on prime-time television, however, are anything but impressive. It feels claustrophobic and, frankly, run down. From my seat, I spot my father on the floor. The New York State Delegation is front and center. Donald hooked it up.

The convention gets underway, and it is a theatrical performance the likes of which I have never seen. But despite the spectacle unfolding on stage, there are not as many people here as I was expecting. Everywhere I look, there are empty seats. Some children come out to sing the National Anthem.

1:15 pm
The RNC has a house band! Pardon my language, but this is fucking hysterical.

1:25 pm
I abandon my post in search of water. I find a concession stand, rebranded for this week as the Republican Roadhouse. The line is massive. Everywhere I look, people are eating hot dogs.

1:35 pm
I am still in line, and have barely moved. People around me are getting annoyed. I am seeing a lot of people adorned in Donald Trump pins, hats, shirts, etc. The entirety of the Texas Delegation is wearing cowboy hats. I see a woman from the Wisconsin Delegation wearing a cheese head. The only people I see in MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN hats are—and this is not a criticism, merely an observation—overweight men. All the women in the MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN hats are wearing stilettos.

2:00 pm
I finally make it to the front of the line and purchase a bottle of water. It costs me $6.25. I return to my seat.

3:00 pm
I get a text from my father. "Leaving? I'm tempted." God bless him. We decide to meet up and get the hell out of here.

3:45 pm
We are back at the hotel and have just turned on CNN to learn that all hell has broken loose on the convention floor. The Never Trump movement is making its final attempt to stop Trump from getting the nomination. This process involves lots of things I do not understand, but which CNN so generously explains to me. Anti-Trump delegates were attempting, via delegate signatures, to force a vote on the convention rules. I ask my father if we should go back. The chaos does not seem to interest him, though I also think he believes that this last-ditch effort by the anti- Trumpers is a fool's errand. "It'll never work," he says, and decides to take a nap instead. In the event he is needed, he has given his proxy vote to someone else. I feel a little bummed to be missing all the action.

5:25 pm
Outside of the hotel lobby, I meet my second die-hard Trump fan. He says that he has been a Trump supporter from the beginning, and that "Trump is tough as nails." I am tempted to remind him that Trump seems unusually sensitive about the size of his hands.

7:40 pm
There is a very peaceful protest happening just outside the convention center. Dad approaches the police on horseback to inquire about the breed of the horses. Everyone—protestors, cops, RNC attendees—seems remarkably chill and polite.

7:45 pm
Back at the convention, back in line for a goddamned bottle of water. You are not allowed to bring beverages into the secure area. You are also not allowed to bring tennis balls or vapes. My father is schmoozing with a Texas delegate in the concessions line. There are more people here for the night session, but only marginally.

Once again, Dad and I part ways, and I make my way back to my seat. He has promised to lend me his floor pass at least once this week. When I sit down, the Benghazi survivors are speaking. I, along with everyone else in the room, am riveted.

9:00 pm
Well, my being impressed had a pretty short lifespan, because now some actor that nobody has ever heard of, Antonio Sabato Jr., is speaking. Can anyone name one movie this dude has acted in? Anybody?

9:05 pm
According to Google, he's been in blockbuster films such as 2001's Shark Hunter and 2005's Crash Landing.

9:10 pm
I am desperate to leave. Any mention of Trump, safety, Hillary, soldiers, cops, walls, borders— basically any mention of anything at all—sends this crowd into a wild frenzy. People are fired up. I am going deaf from the screaming man behind me, who is enjoying affirming everything each speaker has to say with a boisterous "USA!"

9:15 pm
The gentleman behind me is now chanting.

9:30 pm
I have some friends who are in town and are drinking not far from the convention. Beer over Melania. I can watch the highlights reel in the morning (and gauge the convention attendees' reactions in person).

12:00 am
Checking social media. I love Melania's dress. Melania speaks six languages!

2:00 am
After several drinks, I'm back in my hotel room watching Rudy Giuliani's speech from earlier tonight. I watch it three times in full, as I cannot make sense of what I'm seeing. He looks like a mad man. I imagine him backstage, pre-speech, hitting himself repeatedly in the face and screaming, "DO THE DAMN THING, RUDY."

The party in the suite next door to me is enjoying a second night of boozing. Midway through my fourth Giuliani video viewing, I am fast asleep, having night terrors of what insanity awaits me in the coming days.

This is the first part of a two-part series on witnessing the unique spectacle of RNC with one's Trump delegate father. The second dispatch will be posted on Friday.