If I was President

 

‘If I was President,’ is a term we hear a lot these days. Frankly, I’ve heard it a lot throughout my years. Everyone has an opinion about what they would do if they were in charge of these here United States. It kind of depends what kind of mood I was in that would dictate what or how I would act. Yesterday, when I got home from work, I cut the lawn and worked out a bunch of stuff on the world level. An hour before that, a pitcher of beer was involved and the end of a week from hell at work doing whatever I do there was the start of the thought process.  

This morning, after a good night sleep, walking the dogs, and two cups of coffee, things seem a little more peaceful. Sure, there are world events, domestic issues, foreign policies that need work, but not this morning.

If I was President, I would get up and walk my dogs in the backyard in my sweats, under which I still have on my jammies. Secret Service would welcome me, standing right outside the door. “Good morning Mr. President,” Paul would say, all bundled in his winter coat. Paul pulled the night shift since he has only been with the Service for two years. He got the short straw.

“Good morning Paul,” I would say back. Juggling my dogs on leashes, the plastic grocery bag for the poo, and my coffee cup. I’m not sure why I have them on the leash. It’s not like they’re going anywhere and I wouldn't have anyone else pick up my dogs poo. What, the 'President can't pick up his own poo?' What kind of Italian roast would I be.? We would wander to the back lawn area, Paul already notifying the rest of the early morning crew that ‘Single-Malt One’ was on the move, heading to the back yard to throw the balls for Buckethead and Doc, two female rescued mutts.

The Service wants me to stay behind the bushes, standing out in the open allows for an easy shot from the street. I keep telling them I can’t get a good throw from there and it forces me to stand in the tulip bed. But I try to comply. But they know I have to go out and get the poo the dogs planted. I told the National Park Service guy, Teddy I think his name was, to leave a shovel by the hedge so I could pick the stuff up and put it in the bag. He told me he would get it. "You ain't picking up my dogs crap unless I'm not home and then only if I'm gone for a few days. I'll get it when I come back." The Service goes 'Yellow' when Single-Malt One goes out from cover to get the steamers in the yard. Paul wants me to run in a serpentine pattern. He rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh when I tell him to 'cover me.' He notifies the boys on the roof and they really are covering me. I drop the bag in the trash can on the way back in and put the shovel back.

There is a protester who is always there on closed off Penn Avenue between the perimeter gate and Lafayette Park, almost always living in his cardboard box with protest slogans written all over the outside. His been there for the last three presidents so I don’t take him too personally. “How you doing this morning Buck,” I yell. “You sleep okay last night?”

He waves back. He never says much, just waves, That’s pretty good.

I don’t stay long, much to the relief of the Service. After about three throws, the balls are so dog saliva slippery, it’s miserable to try to throw them. I come back inside and pour another cup then walk down to the Oval Office. I haven’t changed and I’m carrying the newspaper. I like reading at the desk,  splaying it out, seeing what Garfield’s doing today. That darned cat!  

I would go to the outer office where my secretary sits. She isn’t in yet. It’s too early. But I would start the coffee. They never figured out why the coffee was always made when the early office workers got there. They kept thinking it was each other. That is so funny.

I then would read something in the paper and want to make a phone call. Like this stuff going on in Kiev. I would call Vladimir. “Hey, Vladimir—Mark. I know you’re still pissed at the hockey outcome—what? Hey, ya hairless bastard, quit your crying, a bet is a bet. You kick our ass for years in that sport and we win one game and you go all French. Stop it. Hey, why don’t you call those protest leaders and tell them you want to talk? Because it’s the right thing to do, that’s why. Do you see the press you’re getting? Okay, yeah, I’m at my desk drinking coffee, so?” I would then call the North Korean kid and when he answered, hang up. That just cracks me up. Sometimes, I would call him just to say 'hi' and ask him how his meal the night before was. I would always make sure I mentioned what it was. Just as he was screaming into his phone at me asking me how I knew what he had, I would hang up again.

After the calls, I would see what was on sale at Target, but only if it was the Sunday paper. By then, it would be time for a little private time in the bathroom. I would use the one right off the Oval Office. I don’t want to walk all the way back to the apartment.

By the time I was done, the coffee would be done and I'd go get another cup for the walk back. It’s time to change for the day. I’m sure there is a bunch to do. My advisors keep wanting me to quit swearing so much. I tell them I am trying, but sometimes people groups just need to be told their stupid. They didn’t like it when the National Organization of Benevolency in Government said they were ‘personally appalled’ at what I said earlier in the year about something that escapes me now and my response was I was sorry their mothers had collectively dropped them too many times on their heads when they were young. My advisors wanted me to watch those kinds of comments. It made their jobs kind of messy.

Yeah, so, that’s kind of what I would do, at least in the early morning, if I was president. Now, for the morning and afternoon. Hmmm