Hailing the Chief

By John Duck Worth

The president sat at his desk in the Oval Office, waiting … even though there was a stack of letters to sign, a cable to read, a press conference to prepare for, a briefing with the Cabinet to attend and a tea for an ambassador in the Rose Garden.

Looking up from his schedule, he smiled. Yes, there was al lot to do. But first some people were coming – some very important people.

At least he thought they were very important. That was why he kept inviting them to the Oval Office for a talk

“Mr. President,” said a voice on the intercom. “They’re here, sir.”

“Ah,” he said. “Send the first on in, please.” He leaned forward on the edge of his chair, waiting.

The door opened, and a blond cheerleader ushered herself into the room. Without acknowledging the president’s smile or outstretched hand, she plopped down in a chair and chewed a big wad of bubble gum. Then she shut her eyes tight and blew a bubble.

POP.

“Like, Mr. President, your honor,” she said in a squeaky, singsong vice. “Thank you for the world so sweet, thank you for the food we eat, thank you for the birds that sing, thank you, sir, for everything. RAH, RAH, RAH … go, team, go!”

Before the president could say a word, the girl opened her eyes, hopped up and bounced out the door.

He sighed. Why did it always seem to go like this? He pushed the intercom button. “Next, please,” he said.

The door opened, and in came a handsome young man dressed in his Sunday best. Again the president’s hand was ignored.

“O thou Chief Executive who art in the White House,” said the boy, clasping his hands and looking at the ceiling. “O thou in whom so much doth constitutionally dwell, upon whose desk hath been placed a most effective blotter, incline thine ear toward thy most humble citizen and grant that thy many entities may be manifoldly endowed upon fruitful plain.”

Wincing, the president closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

“And may thou dost harkeneth whatly didst shalt evermore in twain asunder,” the boy concluded in a loud monotone.

“Excuse me,” said the president, “but … what?”

“Goodbye,” said the young man, seeming not to hear, and walked out.

The president sighed again. “Next, please,” he spoke into the intercom.

This time when the door opened, there seemed to be no one there. Then the president looked down and saw a quivering teenager crawling through the doorway on is hands and knees. The boy’s horn-rimmed glasses started to steam up, and a dozen pencils spilled from his shirt pocket.

“Oh, Mr. G-Great and Aweful P-President,” blubbered the young man, not looking up from the carpet. He scrambled to retrieve his writing instruments. “I am but a disgusting piece of filth in your presence. No, I am less than that! How dare I think that you would do anything but grind me into the floor?”

“Please get up,” said the president, offering his hand. “You don’t have to do that. I want to talk with you.”

But the kid went right on groveling. “I deserve only to be squashed under the weight of your mighty desk,” he whined. “I could never have gotten the invitation to talk with you. It must have been a mistake. How can you ever forgive me for breaking like this? Oh, I’m so sorry, so sorry, so sorry….” Still on his hands and knees, he crawled out.

The boy’s groaning faded down the hall. The president shook his head, then slowly pushed the intercom button. “Next,” he said, soundling tired.

In moments, a surfer dressed in neon yellow and a pink tank top entered. He had headphones strapped to his ears and was bobbing up and down to his favorite tunes.

“Yo, Prez,” the young man said, ignoring the offered hand. “What’s up?” He looked out the window. “Nice place you’ve got here. I’m, like, so glad we could rap like this, you know? You’re not bad for an old dude, I guess. Hey, you don’t bother me, I won’t bother you, okay? Well, gotta go. Hang in there.” He walked out.

The president drummed his fingers in his desk. “Next, please,” he said wearily.

A young football player strutted in – completely decked out in his uniform. He, too, ignored the president’s greeting. “Mr. President,” he declared, folding his arms across his chest. “There’s this totally awesome chick I met last week at Biff’s Burgers, and I wanna ask her out. But I think she needs a little ‘Chief Executive persuasion.’ Know what I mean? You can see to it that she doesn’t say no. Now, this is important!”

The president cleared his throat politely. “Speaking of important,” he ventured, “how do you feel about my program to feed the hungry? Would you like to have a part in-“

“And another thing!” the football player continued. “I lost my mouthpiece. Can’t remember where I put it. Now, you find it for me, will you? Got to have it before the big game on Saturday. I know you can do it. Later.”

With that the athlete got up and marched out the door.

The president slumped in his chair. “Next,” he said.

There was a pause. At last a young woman entered slowly. She looked like a sleepwalker – eyes nearly shut, jaw slack, her feet dragging. She yawned and slid into a chair. “Dear Mr…. President…,” she said, her head dropping. “I know I should talk to you when I’m more… awake… but I’ve got so many things to do…. So… sleepy… There was something I was going to say…. What… was… it? I was going to say… uh…” She started to snore.

The president buzzed his secretary, who stepped in. “Could you help this young lady out? He asked, sighing again.

“Certainly, Mr. President.” The secretary helped the dozing girl to her feet.

The president gazed sadly out the window. “How many do we have left?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the secretary said. “But as usual, most of the people you sent invitations to said they were too busy to talk. They had to watch TV, go shopping, do homework….”

“Oh,” said the president, dejected. “Isn’t anyone out there?”

“There is one, sir,” she said. “But you wouldn’t want to talk with him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s – just a child, Mr. President.”

The chief executive shrugged. “May as well show him in.”

Moments later a little boy entered shyly. He looked around the room, his eyes wide. “Are… you really the president?”

The president smiled. “I really am,” he answered, offering his hand.

The little boy reached up and shook it. Then he sat down, folded his hands in his lap and waited.

The president watched, amazed, as the boy sat politely for nearly a minute. “Isn’t there something you want to tell me?” the president asked finally. “Something you have to recite, or ask for, or say?”

The little boy looked down for a moment, thinking. Then he looked up. “Yes,” he said. “I guess there is.”

“Well, what was it?” the president asked.

“Thank you for inviting me,” the boy said. “That’s all.”

When the president heard that, he couldn’t seem to say anything for a while all he could do was smile.

But then they talked and talked for the longest, most wonderful time.^^

always love this story ♥ from an article in Brio magazine. just have it read again from my old blog :)