I Know Where Jenna Was...

I Know Where Jenna Was...


I know why Jenna Bush didn't show up for graduation. I know because she and her twin sister, Barbara, were in Phoenix with us. We had lunch together at the Chevy's Mexican restaurant next to the Biltmore Fashion Park. The grilled fish tacos were scrumptious. What? Well, okay... My friends and I didn't exactly have lunch WITH the Bush twins, but we came pretty darn close -- we were separated by a thin wall and a clump of Secret Service agents as we ate lunch in the same restaurant at the same time.

My co-workers and I had gathered for a going away celebration for our friends Carol and Vincent, who were about to move, respectively, to Oregon and California. There were eleven of us in all – an assortment of unpredictable engineers, scientists, and garden-variety eccentrics. Our diverse backgrounds allowed us to transcend all stereotypes: we were five women and six men, 25 to 50 years old, with Asian, Caucasian, Spanish, and Indian roots. Despite our seemingly harmless middle-aged appearances, we proved to be quite a handful. In fact, we held the attention of two very serious Secret Service agents for over an hour as they closely monitored and even scolded us.

Quite predictably, Jo was the first to get into trouble. She was always energetic, but even more so after the chips and salsa kicked in. Jo had her eye on the three balloons sitting at the far end of the table. These were the balloons that I had blown up as we had watched a man and woman in suits and earpieces pace nervously in front of us. It seemed as though this banquet room, which linked the service lot to the main dining area, was about to become an important entrance for a secretive celebrity. We continued to watch the security guards as they quietly whispered into walkie-talkies. Jo then announced that we should challenge ourselves by using the nearer ceiling fan to slingshot balloons into the more distant one. She enthusiastically warned us that one of the balloons might pop.

As most of us preferred to be spectators to such an event, we pointed out that Jo was in the best position to conduct the experiment. We passed her a balloon, which she quickly grabbed and took to the fan. Yan, who was seated directly beneath it, became fearful and rose to get out of the way. Upon seeing this commotion, the man with the earpiece approached Jo and Yan and asked them to kindly return to their seats and not throw any balloons into the fan.

We agreed that these security guards were far too serious for a Mexican restaurant on a Friday afternoon. We watched them move between the service lot, banquet room, and main dining area as we threw out speculative guesses as to who might be coming to dinner. It was then that Joe B. unexpectedly became the next person in our group to cause notable trouble.

For some odd reason, Joe and Carol had simultaneously gotten calls on their cell phones. They had synchronously stood up to answer them and, although Carol sat back down to talk at the table, Joe decided to step out to the service lot where he could talk more privately. This immediately got the attention of the man with the earpiece, who quickly followed Joe out the door. As he reached to push the door open, we could clearly see the butt of a gun pressing against the inside of his jacket. We began to suspect that these were not ordinary security guards, but were, in fact, members of the Secret Service.

Fascinated and curious, we watched Joe through the window as he talked on his cell phone. He was oblivious to the advancing man, casually wandering through the grass and studying the ground at his feet. As Joe held his free hand over his open ear, the man stopped two feet behind him and swept his eyes over Joe as he slowly moved to Joe’s right side. We continued to watch with excitement, wondering if Joe's Eastern European accent would be enough to get him thrown to the ground and frisked. Several of us, myself included, were somewhat disappointed when Joe safely returned to the table, completely unaware that the man had even approached him.

Not long after our food arrived, the two agents became more active. They paced more quickly between the rooms, pressed their earpieces deeper into their ears, and spoke more frequently into their hand-held units. They left together through the back door and met a black limousine as it pulled into the drive. Several more agents stepped out of the car and surrounded the passenger doors. A procession of suited men and women then advanced toward the restaurant. It was the moment we had all been waiting for.

One by one, the members of the entourage entered our banquet room. They were met by a man in a blue oxford, who led them past our table. We watched intently, hoping to catch even a glimpse of the political figure who required such security. Three Secret Service agents led the parade, all professionally suited and armed. They were followed by two girls in their early twenties dressed in casual street clothes. They walked with their eyes forward, focused on nothing but the door ahead. The first girl, a chesty blonde, wore a white cotton blouse and jeans. She was followed by a small brunette in a plaid button-up shirt and blue jeans. Four Secret Service agents lagged behind until the entire group disappeared into the main dining room and left us alone to wonder.

We all turned to each other, looking from person to person hoping to find someone in our group who could tell us who these two girls were. Unfortunately, none of us could even venture a guess. We reviewed the details of our observations and tried to form a consistent picture based on what each of us believed we had seen. Unfortunately, the only thing we were able to conclude was that we had no idea who they were. They were neither athletes nor celebrities, nor were they high-ranking officials.

We finished our meal, settled the bill, and got up to leave, only to find ourselves barred from the main exit. We were forced to walk through a baby shower, awkwardly pushing past an expectant mother opening big pastel boxes in the aisle. We said our farewells in the parking lot and, as I drove away, I saw many parallels between our lunchtime experience and the greater experience of life -– we did what came naturally, had fun, were disappointed by others, got into a little trouble, and then got out safely. The next day, we learned the girls’ identities when Jenna's absence from her graduation ceremony made the national news. My friends and I gathered around their pictures and laughed, knowing that she had been in Phoenix and had unknowingly taken part in Carol and Vincent's going away party.