Won't you please ask me about Obama?

At the train station, I get out of the taxi, and a young man seems to accost me. Happily, he's a got a name tag and looks official, speaking to me in Thai.

"Ubon Ratcha..." I mumble.
More Thai and a friendly gesture to the ticket counters ensue.

"Oh... I have a ticket."
He swtiches to English. Explains to me where to go, and how soon I need to board. Ever so helpful!

Somehow, I hear him ask where I'm from.
"I'm from the US."
"Oh, what are asians doing there?"
Here's my chance- you can ask me about Obama!
"Oh, well, everyone is from everywhere in the US," I blurt out proudly.
He stares at me blankly.
"Uh, my parents are from China, and I was born in the US," I explain better.
So g'head, ask me about Obama! He doesn't take the so obvious a cue.
"What State are you from?" he asks.
"California," and you're going to ask me about Obama, next, right?
"Is it cold there?"
Obama, anytime, just ask away...like the time I was asked to sit behind him in one of his early rallies.
"No, but cooler than here, of course." Obama's from Chicago. It's cold there. C'mon, now's your chance. Whaddya waiting for?

Sigh. He's just not going to ask me about our wonderful new president. I thank him and head to the greasy spoon.