“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth,” Mason Williams (12) instructed as he, Kadence Ly (10), and I ran to his 4Runner to see President Joe Biden. “Extend your arms, but not too far. Gain some speed in the last few meters of the sprint.”

A few days ago, Mason eagerly waited to tell me something important. But before he had the chance to, Kadence had spoiled his fun, blurting out that the president was coming to San Diego on Monday.

Then Monday came. Mason was keeping tabs on the president, following his motorcade’s movements on the news, and he proclaimed that he was going to go try to catch a glimpse of the president. Wrapped up in his excitement, I searched up Joe’s schedule, which was too easy to access on a website with “fact” in its name, and it said he was at the Del Mar Country Club—10 minutes away from Westview. I agreed to come with Mason. He called his dad to ask him if he had nice clothes at his house, and then his mom to ask if she could bring his tuxedo, but to no avail. Mason would have to wear street clothes to meet the president.

There were more cars on the road from school than usual.  “How many of these people are going to see Joe,” I asked. “All of them,” Mason said after making an illegal U-turn. 

It was chaos. We were speeding through green lights, randomly chanting “Joe, Joe Joe!” Mason even sang “Can’t stop I’m addicted to Joe Biden. Can’t stop gotta get to Del Mar Country Club. Can’t stop, gotta find him” to the tune of “Can’t Stop” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers

Then,  we were there. Mason eating a protein bar with the sun beaming on our faces, passing by palm trees and million-dollar homes we couldn’t afford in a lifetime. There were protestors just before you drove to the gate of the country club. There were spectators and a Fox 5 news camera crew. I was buzzing, fantasizing about shaking the president’s hand. 

When we reached the gate Mason said, “Hi, we desperately would like to see the president and we were wondering how far we could get.” The gate attendant seemed genuine when she said that the president wasn’t there. She theorized that the president had published a fake address to throw average citizens like us off.

So we sat, parked, watching cars pass by and waiting to see if any contained Joe Biden. One of them was an old lady, the other an old white man who was assuredly not Joe. Even a helicopter flew by that could have been Joe. 

Joe Biden, or no Biden, it was the most naive, idiotic thing I’ve done this month. In doing so, I was reminded that going on naive, idiotic adventures with the most carefree people I know boosts my mood—maybe for only a little while, but for 30 minutes, I can feel like me again.