I know it’s been a while since my last campaign report. Let’s just say that my campaign finances have not been keeping up to the demand.
One of most ardent supporters wanted to be Vice-President. He said he sent in the $5,000 fee to get the job. I didn’t get his check. So I called him up. He said, “I sent it to the Brooks, North Montana address.”
“No,” I said, “That address is not functional until the USA annexes North Montana—wait a second—I mean—North Montana rejoins the USA. Can you send it to the Brooks, Alberta address?”
“But the check is already in the mail,” came the reply.
The USA must be cursed with boneheads wanting to be Vice-President. It seems I must resort to another way to finance my campaign than selling cabinet seats.
Follow the trends, said a wise marketer. Another anti-Trump book has hit the press. The writers and publishers will make millions. Anti-Trump books are a better way to make a quick buck in the USA than starting up a mega-church.
Then I remembered my short stay at the White House in 2017. Maybe I can turn that stay into a little cash. Get your credit card ready, for it is a great story.
In 2017, I was unemployed and killing time with the now-defunct internet forum called “Writerbeat.” We had all sorts of political stripes there (including a couple of white supremacists). Most of us were civil most of the time. Only a few got kicked off.
One contributor was the great political satirist Tubularsock (www.tubularsock.com). He saw an opportunity with my unemployment.
“Dave,” he said, “I have conjured up an ‘in’ in the White House. I need you to take on a position there. They pay well.”
When Tubularsock says "GO," one must go. “But I don’t have any money,” I said.
“No problem,” he said, “There is a chartered Gulfstream waiting for you at the Calgary Airport. Get on your best suit and get on that plane.”
“I don’t have a suit.”
“I knew you would say that,” said The Tube, “Dave, you really have to abandon your notion that the common man can have something to do with democracy. Suits, not jeans, get to call the shots. Go to Marv’s Men’s Store in Brooks. Marv owes me a favor. He’ll get you looking political. And don’t let anyone in Washington see you without that suit.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Get to the White House, knock on the door, do what they tell you, AND take lots of notes. Then send the notes back to me so I can write a bestseller. I’ll give you 2% of the royalties. . . . And wear that suit!”
Back in 2017, The Tube knew the profit of writing White House books. He was ahead of his time.
Six hours later, I was in a new suit and jetting to Washington DC. Those Gulfstreams sure are a cool way to travel. For sure, I wasn’t scrunched up next to a passenger with a long ear hair hanging down to her shoulder, leaving me with an irresistible urge to pluck it out for the entire transatlantic trip. But that’s another story. A Gulfstream flight won’t put you in that position.
A Tube agent picked me up at Dulles Airport and took me the White House. “Just knock on the front door,” he said before driving off.
I walked up to the front door and knocked. A black suit with dark sunglasses glared at me and my new suit.
“Tubularsock sent me,” I said.
“Mr. Volek, we have been expecting you. Come this way.”
Black Suit with Dark Sunglasses took me down a long hall, up one flight of stairs, through a courtyard, into an elevator which went down, right turn past some plants, then left into an alcove with sculptures and paintings of former presidents, past the wooden Indian, up a flight of stairs, another left turn, and into a room with a Human Resources sign.
“Addy,” said Dark Suit with Black Sunglasses, “This is Mr. Volek.”
Addy was about 60 years old and looked like someone who had seen too many presidents. She was not impressed by my suit. She looked at Black Suit: “Has he been EGPQed?
Black Suit said, “My supervisor thought an EGPQ wasn’t necessary if we did the CTA and the DEHS. We did all that and sent it to you.”
Addy said, “I got the CTA. It was not signed by the right OND. So, I sent it back to your supervisor.”
“Didn’t she send back a JGB form to explain why an OND is not required for a CTA? The OND is just a formality nobody pays attention to anymore.”
“My supervisor did not agree with your supervisor. So we sent the CTA back with instructions to get the right OND. And we also reminded her that we still needed the DEHS.”
“You didn’t get the DEHS either? I filled that out myself and put it in the interoffice mail.”
“Did you put an SLA stamp on that DEHS?”
“I forgot about SLAing the DEHS form.”
“Well, it just might still be sitting there. Those IOLU couriers won’t deem it important enough to be XNKed.”
“I knew I should have used the ALBJ couriers. They are not under SLA rules.”
Addy turned to me: “Mr. Volek. Because of a bureaucratic error, you have not been cleared to be in this building. Normally I would just ask the agent to escort you outside. But your friend Tubularsock is very powerful in Washington. So I will allow you to stay while I sort this out.
“Put this on,” she then said. She pushed a name badge my way. It said, “New Guy #83.” I put it on.
She directed Black Suit: “Take him to 144-B-6.”
Out of the HR office, turn right, past the potted plants and elevator, down a hallway with three left turns, up three flights of stairs, a right turn, past some paintings of former presidents, down some stairs, right turn at the candy-stripers booth, then to a barren hallway with a sole door that said 144-B-6.
“Here’s your new boss,” said Black Suit. Working at three desks were young ladies with nice hair, nice makeup, and nice tight dresses. We introduced ourselves. Stephanie, Tiffany, and Tiffany were interns who were getting valuable life experience with politics and powerful people.
Stephanie was refurbishing a couple of dartboards. One dartboard had a title called “Things Canada Exports into the USA”. Around the circle were titles like “Maple Syrup, Igloos, Canada Geese, and Cold Air.” The second dartboard had “Tariff Rate” as its title. Its circle was lined with numbers and percentages: like 1%, 14%, and 35%. “This will be the new way for public policy development,” said Stephanie. “It will help when quick decisions are needed.”
Tiffany was studying a map of North Korea, pronouncing names of Korean cities. “In case we have to drop a nuclear bomb there, I will be called into the office of the Big Boss to teach him how to pronounce Korean things before he talks to the media.”
And Tiffany was moving wooden nameplates from one box to the other while watching the news. One box said: “Feathers in my Cap” and the other said: “Black Eyes.” Tiffany said: “These are Republican members of Congress. Which box they belong to depends on what they say on the news. Every once in a while the Big Boss asks me to bring the Feathers box so he can take a look.”
I could only marvel at how the Deep State should fear Stephanie, Tiffany, and Tiffany if they ever rise higher in politics.
“What’s my job?” I asked.
“Well, for sure, you are supposed to watch us.” said Stephanie, “And things are a bit chaotic. You’ll probably be getting your formal assignment in a few days.”
So watch I did, hopefully not too lustfully.
Five o’clock rolled around. “Quitting time,” shouted the girls. When they opened the office door, another black suit and dark glasses was at the door—with a cot and a supper in a Styrofoam container. “Sorry Mr. Volek, your security clearance is taking time. And there are people here who don’t want to see you in the hallways. Your benefactor has enemies. So, you cannot leave the office without proper creds.” He rolled in the cot. “You will sleep here tonight.”
I jotted some notes down on the day’s happenings for Tubularsock’s book. I spent the rest of the evening watching Tiffany’s TV. After the fourth episode of Star Trek, I recalled The Tube’s words. And I realized there might be a hidden camera in this office. So I slept in my suit—to prove my loyalty to politics.
Eight o’clock in the morning brought the girls back—in new outfits. A new black suit gave me breakfast in a Styrofoam container and rolled the cot out of the office. He brought me a big urn of coffee. Nice guy.
I watched the girls work, not too lustfully. And in anticipation of my future assignment, I rearranged my desk to be at its highest efficiency for when that assignment came.
But not much for Tubularsock’s notebook today. Still no clearance to leave the office.
Day 3 was like Day 2, except Stephanie finished her dartboard. We practiced settings tariffs for Canadian exports. She wondered what her next assignment would be. I rearranged my desk again. The paper clips would be better placed on the left side of the second drawer.
Mid-morning on Day 4, a different black suit burst through the office and marched up to my desk.
“You’re fired,” he said.
“But why?” I asked.
“The Big Boss just learned prime numbers are indivisible,” he pointed to my NEW GUY #83 badge, “He wants all prime numbers to be gone.”
Thinking of others, I asked, “What about Stephanie, Tiffany, and Tiffany?”
“They are not prime. They will be reassigned.”
Thinking of myself, I asked, “What about my three days’ pay?”
Black Suit said, “The Secretary to Pay Secretaries was Secretary #17. He too is prime. He left the building an hour ago.”
“So?”
“He did not finish your paperwork in time. There is no record of you being here.”
Two other black suits barged in and each grabbed one of my arms. The talking black suit took off my NEW GUY #83 badge. “We might need this again.”
Then out of the office, eight steps into a crash door, and I was on the White House lawn.
I phoned Tubularsock about having no money to get home. He was disappointed. “Find a way to Dulles Airport. There will be a ticket for you at American Airlines.”
The ticket was Washington to Dallas with a seven-hour layover. Then Dallas to San Francisco with a six-hour layover. Then San Francisco to Vancouver with a four-hour layover. then Vancouver to Calgary. I think The Tube was trying to tell me something. My new suit was very rumpled.
So, I have given you the story of my life in the White House during the presidency of Donald J. Trump. Yes, it was only a few days in 2017. But I must have had a big impact because, remember, things got worse after I left. So, I think my story is worth a few dollars to you, especially if you already have a collection of Trump-in-the-White-House books.
So here’s how you can donate to my presidential campaign.
1. Go to Amazon Kindle or Rakuten Kobo. Find these three ebooks:
i) Tiered Democratic Governance
ii) Diary of a Future Politician
iii) Confessions of a Future Politician
2. Keep buying these books until the appropriate donation is made.
But I wouldn’t advise reading them. These books have ideas on politics and governance you won’t find in any known echo chamber. The USA can’t have ideas like that running around, can it?
Things could be worse!
Published on Medium 2021
Dunning-Kruger Effect & Democracy
