Friday, it being my birthday, despite the huge workload I’ve been dealing with lately, I left the office at 4:30 and drove out US Route 66 to my brother Rob Roy’s place in Fairfax. He, his wife Katje, their son Jason and my girlfriend Cerise were waiting there for me to arrive for the celebration.
But as I approached the driveway, my cell phone announced a caller from the vice presidential mansion, back in DC, over by the Naval Observatory. So naturally, I parked in Rob’s driveway and answered it.
Voice: Hello? Tom Collins?
Tom: Excuse me, but this doesn’t sound like Joe Biden.
Voice: It’s not. Call me “John,” as in “John Doe.”
Tom: Okay, “John,” no problem. What can I do for you?
“John”: I… uh… ah… well, Mr. Collins, while I might not be Joe Biden, I do work for him.
Tom: And you’re calling on his behalf?
“John”: No, not really. I’m kinda, sorta calling on my own behalf, actually.
Tom: And how, may I ask, did you get this telephone number?
“John”: It was written on a paper napkin I found in the breast pocket of Senator… I mean, Vice President Biden’s suit jacket.
Tom: And what, pray tell, were you doing with a jacket from one of Vice President Biden’s suits?
“John”: Taking it to the cleaners. In Delaware.
Tom: My goodness, that sounds rather… menial. Doesn’t he have interns, or government-provided valets, or people like that who…
“John”: Yes, yes, of course he does.
Tom: But you’re taking care of his dry cleaning instead of them?
“John”: Yeah.
Tom: In addition to your… usual duties as one of Joe Biden’s aides?
“John”: Well, actually, the only other “additional duty” I have right now is cleaning his toilets.
Tom: My, that sounds rather onerous.
“John”: It’s going to get better, though.
Tom: How?
“John”: Starting next week, they’re going to let me use a brush.
Tom: You mean, you’re one of Joe Biden’s aides, but he hasn’t given you anything to do in over a week besides that?
“John”: Yeah, exactly. That’s why, when I found this number, I decided to sneak in a call to you. They say Tom Collins is the smartest person inside the Beltway.
Tom: Which is a lot like being the tallest building in Baltimore.
“John”: Baltimore? That [expletive] hell hole? Who cares how tall the [expletive] buildings… oh… [expletive] – you’re not from Baltimore or anything, are you?
Tom: No, I’m from New York. Little Italy. It’s a metaphor.
“John”: “Little Italy” is a metaphor?
Tom: No.
“John”: What, “New York” is a metaphor?
Tom: No, “the tallest building in Baltimore” is a metaphor.
“John”: But isn’t the phrase, “Like being the tallest building,” actually a simile?
Tom: No, because when you say a situation or condition is as if you were something, then it’s a metaphor.
“John”: Uh, okay, be that as it may, can you explain what you’re talking about?
Tom: Don’t worry about it, no big deal. At least now, I’m completely convinced you work for Joe Biden. So, besides those things, what have you been doing the rest of the time?
“John”: Sitting in a room in the basement of the vice presidential mansion.
Tom: I see. Doing what?
“John”: Nothing. I just sit there at a desk.
Tom: Doing nothing?
“John”: They give me nothing to do. I have no assignment; no tasks; nothing.
Tom: You just sit at a desk?
“John”: That’s right. No telephone, no computer, no fax machine, not even pencils and paper. There’s nothing in the desk, either – no stapler, no staple-puller, no scissors, no tape dispenser, no high-lighters, no pens, no folders, no folder hangers, no Post-its, no paper clips, not even a key to the desk drawer. There’s not even any lost pennies or stale crumbs from the previous person’s sandwiches. And, you know, how federal government buildings have these motion sensors attached to the lights, so that if they don’t sense any movement for five minutes, the lights go out to conserve energy?
Tom: Yeah.
“John”: Well, they’ve got the sensitivity on the motion sensors set so low, if I don’t get up every four minutes and fifty-nine seconds and do two dozen jumping jacks, the lights go out, and then I’m sitting there in complete darkness. And the heat, my God, it’s excruciating. They keep it at exactly ninety-eight point six degrees in there. I know because yesterday, I brought a rectal thermometer to work. You can use a rectal thermometer as a room thermometer, you know.
Tom: Yes, because the bulb is so large. It works in air, too.
“John”: Right. So I’m absolutely positive – it’s almost a hundred degrees in that room. Try doing two dozen jumping jacks every five minutes in nearly ninety-nine degree heat in a closed, stuffy, windowless, eight-by-twelve room for eight hours sometime.
Tom: I think I’ll pass. What in the world did you do that got you into this situation?
“John”: Um… well… have you heard about that Democratic Party fund raiser on March 23rd down in Winter Park at Alan Ginsburg’s Florida estate?
Tom: Oh, my God. Are you the Biden staffer who locked Scott Powers in a closet?
“John”: Who?
Tom: He’s that reporter for the Orlando Sentinel – the one who was covering the event.
“John”: Oh, that was his name?
Tom: Yeah, Scott Powers.
“John”: Well, all right, then, but I did not lock him in a [expletive] closet! It was a storage room, okay? And the [expletive] door was [expletive] unlocked all the time!
Tom: But when he asked to leave the… storage room, storage closet… whatever, you denied him egress, correct?
“John”: He never asked for an egress! And what the [expletive] is a [expletive] egress, anyway?
Tom: My, for a high-ranking Washington staffer serving the Executive Branch, you certainly swear a lot.
“John”: Oh. Sorry. It’s a bad habit I picked up from Vice President Biden. I’ll try to keep a lid on it.
Tom: Thanks. What I meant was, after you put him in there and shut the door, you wouldn’t let Scott out, even though he asked politely to be released, and you had no legal right or authority to detain him.
“John”: Yeah, well, I guess so, we… “denied him egress” as you put it, insofar as we told him he couldn’t come out until we gave him permission.
Tom: “We?” Was there more than one Biden staffer involved in this?
“John”: Well, actually, no.
Tom: So what’s this “we” business? You and your tapeworm, perhaps?
“John”: Alright, alright! It was just me. I told him he couldn’t come out until Vice President Biden arrived. Those were my instructions – keep the reporter from mingling with the donors, I was told; keep him from conversing with them and maybe getting quotes that would end up in the media the next day.
Tom: Understood. So while not literally “locked” in a “closet,” the Orlando Sentinel reporter was, nevertheless, sequestered in a small room and forbidden to leave of his own volition?
“John”: Oh, Jesus [expletive] Christ on a crutch, so [expletive] shoot me, okay? I was just following my [expletive] orders!
Tom: “Just following orders?” You know who else said that?
“John”: The Watergate burglars?
Tom: An, close enough, I guess. The point is, it’s no excuse. You can’t just say “I was told to do it” and expect to be exonerated. That hasn’t worked since 1946.
“John”: What the hell happened in 1946?
Tom: Nuremberg.
“John”: What’s stinky cheese got to do with this?
Tom: No, that’s Limburger you’re thinking about.
“John”: So what…
Tom: Never mind. Look – it’s obvious what’s going on here – you’re being punished for doing something that embarrassed Vice President Biden, mistreating a member of the press and…
“John”: Mistreating? We gave that damn reporter water – and food, too!
Tom: Food from the five-hundred-dollar-a-plate gourmet meal the guests were receiving?
“John”: Of course not! Did that reporter contribute five hundred dollars to re-elect Senator Bill Nelson?
Tom: So what did he get, some cornflakes from the kitchen pantry?
“John”: He got a very respectable meal – the same thing Ginsburg’s maid and gardener got! I made sure of it!
Tom: And tap water?
“John”: [Expletive]! What the [expletive] was he supposed to get, Dom Pérignon? He’s a [expletive] newspaper reporter, God damn it! I put some [expletive] ice in it! I ran the tap for at least thirty [expletive] seconds, too!
Tom: And it never occurred to you that, while you were keeping him confined and away from all that tasty gourmet food and drink, Scott Powers might grow a bit… resentful?
“John”: Uh… no, I guess it didn’t.
Tom: And, in addition, you apparently forgot that, not only was he a newspaper reporter, but, like everybody else who wears a suit to work these days, he had a very powerful, multi-function smart phone with a built-in camera and wireless Internet access. So both the story of how you treated him, as well as pictures of the place you confined him, appeared all over the World Wide Web the next day, setting off a fire storm of vitriolic posts throughout the entire blogosphere. Then, of course, those blog posts themselves became a story, causing the mainstream media to notice. And since the Obama-Biden administration has been vociferously complaining that various world leaders who don’t show proper respect for journalists are evil, and that some of them, like Muammar Gaddafi, ought to, at the very least, lose their jobs, you made not only Joe Biden, but also Joe Biden’s boss look like complete and utter hypocrites. So, by supplying high-quality, incendiary rhetorical ammunition to the likes of Michelle Malkin, Sean Hannity and Rush Limbaugh, you have given aid and comfort to President Obama’s sworn enemies.
“John”: Okay, okay, I screwed up! But I apologized!
Tom: The Vice President’s office apologized, not you.
“John”: Alright, alright, technically speaking, yeah, but so what? I said I’m sorry; we said we’re sorry. And I am sorry, too – really, really sorry I hurt that reporter’s feelings, okay? Bitterly sorry; achingly sorry; remorsefully sorry; unforgettably sorry, inconsolably sorry, overwhelmingly…
Tom: I get the idea. And I understand your predicament. So what do you want me to do about it?
“John”: How… how can I… how can I get Vice President Biden to like me again? I didn’t mean to screw up like that… I was only trying to do my job… I only wanted to…
Tom: Please, stop crying. All that blubbering makes it difficult to understand what you’re saying.
“John”: Sorry, sorry… I… didn’t mean… I worked so hard… I…
Tom: I’m sure. I take it you want to get back into Vice President Biden good graces, then?
“John”: Yes, yes, yes – more than anything. Please, please help me!
Tom: Well, if there’s one thing I know for sure about Joe Biden, he loves brown-nosing. Are you certain you’re kissing up to him with sufficient intensity?
“John”: Vice President Biden won’t tolerate the presence of anyone who isn’t a total suck-up. All of us are always…
Tom: That’s just my point. If he’s surrounded at every moment by fawning, pusillanimous sycophants who are constantly babbling fatuous praise and obsequious flattery, why should he notice you – unless you screw up royally?
“John”: Oh my God, that’s right! What should I do to stand out in the crowd?
Tom: For starters, Joe’s a real sucker for football. So you should do whatever it takes to get him a meeting with Aaron Rodgers.
“John”: Holy [expletive]! Aaron Rodgers?
Tom: With autographed memorabilia – and picture of him making nice-nice to Joe.
“John”: That’s a pretty tall order…
Tom: You want to get out of that room in the basement or not?
“John”: Okay, okay, I understand.
Tom: Ditto for baseball. Get him a meeting and photo op with Edgar Renteria. See where I’m going with this?
“John”: Um… uh… not…
Tom: All right, I’ll spell it out for you – who’s the most valuable player on the Obama team?
“John”: Hillary Clinton?
Tom: Ah, look, I have to go right now, my nephew and my girlfriend are tapping on my car windshield.
“John”: Huh?
Tom: I’m parked in my brother’s driveway at the moment, and talking to you is making me late for my own birthday party.
“John”: You were born on April Fool’s Day?
Tom: On April 1st, yeah.
“John”: Oh, I am so sorry.
Tom: Don’t be. A lot of people consider it very appropriate. Tell you what, call me Monday and I’ll give you some more suggestions.
“John”: Oh, thank you! I am so [expletive] grateful! Getting back on the good side of Joe Biden is a really big [expletive] deal, you know! But I should probably tell you, I can’t afford to…
Tom: Don’t worry about that. There’s no way I would even think of accepting money from someone who has to earn it by taking orders from Joe Biden.
“John”: Oh, [expletive], that’s [expletive] awesome! Thanks one [expletive] of lot!
Tom: No problem.
“John”: Well, I’ll talk to you next week, then. Happy [expletive] birthday!
Tom: Thanks. ‘Bye.