Once upon a time I was invited to the White House for a private dinner with the President.
I am a respected businessman, with a factory that produces memory chips for computers and portable electronics.
There was some talk that my industry was being scrutinized by the administration, but I paid it no mind. I live in a FREE country. There’s nothing that the government can do to me if I’ve broken no laws. My wealth was EARNED honestly, and an invitation to dinner with an American President is an honor.
I checked my coat, was greeted by the Chief of Staff, and joined the President in a yellow dining room.
We sat across from each other at a table draped in white linen. The Great Seal was embossed on the china. Uniformed staff served our dinner.
The meal was served, and I was startled when my waiter suddenly reached out, plucked a dinner roll off my plate and began nibbling it as he walked back to the kitchen…”Sorry ’bout that,” said the President. “Andrew is very hungry.”
“I don’t appreciate…” I began, but as I looked into the calm brown eyes across from me, I felt immediately guilty and petty. It was just a dinner roll. “Of course,” I concluded, and reached for my glass. Before I could, however, another waiter reached forward, took the glass away and swallowed the wine in a single gulp. “And his brother, Eric, is very thirsty,” said the President. I didn’t say anything. The President is testing my
compassion, I thought. I withheld my comments and decided to play along. I don’t want to seem unkind.. My plate was whisked away before I had tasted a bite.
“Eric’s children are also quite hungry.”
With a lurch, I crashed to the floor. My chair had been pulled out from under me.
I stood, brushing myself off angrily, and watched as it was carried from the room.
And their grandmother can’t stand for long.”
I excused myself, smiling outwardly, but inside feeling like a fool. Obviously I had been invited to the White House to be sport for some game. I reached for my coat, to find that it had been taken. I turned back to the President.
“Their grandfather doesn’t like the cold.”
I wanted to shout, “that was my coat!” But again, I looked at the placid smiling face of my host and decided I was being a poor sport. I spread my hands helplessly and chuckled.
Then I felt my hip pocket and realized my wallet was gone. I excused myself and walked to a phone on an elegant side table.
I learned shortly that my credit cards had been maxed out, my bank accounts emptied, my retirement and equity portfolios had vanished, and my wife had been thrown out of our home. Apparently, the waiters and their families were moving in. The President hadn’t moved or spoken as I learned all this, but finally I lowered the phone into its cradle and turned to face him.
“Andrew’s whole family has made bad financial decisions. They haven’t planned for retirement and they need a house. They recently defaulted on a subprime mortgage. I told them they could have your home. They need it more than you do.”
My hands were shaking. I felt faint I stumbled back to the table and knelt on the floor.
The President cheerfully cut his meat, ate his steak, and drank his wine. I lowered my eyes and stared at the small grey circles on the tablecloth that were water drops.
“By the way,” he added, “I have just signed an Executive Order nationalizing your factories. I’m firing you as head of your business. I’ll be operating the firm now for the benefit of all mankind.
There’s a whole bunch of Eric’s and Andrews out there and they can’t come to you for jobs groveling like beggars…we need to spread YOUR wealth around…”
I looked up. The President dropped his spoon into the empty napkin which had been in his crme Brule. He drained the last drops of his wine. As the table was cleared, he lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. He stared at me. I clung to the edge of the table as if it were a ledge and I were a man hanging over an abyss. I thought of the years behind me, of the life I had lived. The life I had earned with a lifetime of work, risk and struggle.
Why was I punished? How had I allowed it to be taken? What game had I played and lost? I looked across the table and noticed with some surprise that there was no game board between us.
What had I done wrong?
As if answering the unspoken thought, President Obama suddenly cocked his head, locked his empty eyes to mine, and bared a million teeth, chuckling wryly as he folded his hands. “You should have stopped me at the dinner roll”, he said.
My version, by Jack
Once upon a time the Staff of Post Scripts was invited to the White House for a private dinner with the President. One of the wait staff reached for a roll on Jack’s plate and Jack reacted with lightning speed and pinned the man’s hand to the table with a steak knife. “Oh my, sorry didn’t notice your hand reaching for my plate. Well, surely this must be worth a lawsuit!” Jack said. The waiter beamed with joy as the prospects of easy money. “Were you not advised of the hazards of waiting tables in the White House?” Jack asked. No, I wasn’t, he replied “According to civil law you can file a claim against your employer, the POTUS, for a serious lack of training and while placing you in a dangerous working area and without the proper protective gear. Jack then said, “Mr. President, this event is quite regrettable and unfortunately I think I’ve been traumatized too, we’re both going to have to sue you.” And so Jack and the waiter sued and Tina and Steve received big payments for being a witnesses against the Obamas and then they both sued for being traumatized, claiming they could never eat a roll again. They each collected $2 mil for damages. OSHA eventually became involved and they fined the POTUS $250,000 for failure to provide a safe working environment. The waiter won a judgement of $10,000,000 against the Obamas and they were forced to sell everything they own to pay it. In the next election he was voted out of office and half his retirement was seized to pay his civil suit. And so ends my “happy” version of this fairy tale.