Fervor

I gaze upward at the great, white doors in awe. Their splendor, their history fill me with patriotic fervor. I am eager to begin my new job at the White House -- so fortunate to be chosen, out of many prospective hires, as the next resident cook for the first family. So proud to be in the shadow of greatness, helping, in my own small gastronomic way, to build and support my country. I am grateful to be here. Excited to begin. Such a pity I'm not actually a cook.

I really should thank the employment agency that sent me here. What a rare opportunity! It's not their fault I'm in such a pickle. I was distracted when I went in to apply for new jobs; I must have checked off a wrong box on their forms. No two ways about it: I'm known for being scatterbrained. That's how I lost my last job, administrative assistant for an advertisement agency. We were working on a great contract from PepsiCo for a series of magazine advertisements. Boy, was everyone mad when I placed the call to seal the deal and a week later Coca Cola demanded to know when their advertisements were being delivered.

And that's why I'm here, now, standing before the great front doors of the White House. All because of my absentmindedness. It seems to have worked out well, though. I guess it's not such a bad thing to be a little confu--

Ouch. That hurt. Why am I lying on the ground? Oh. Well, why did that security guard tackle me? Oh. Not supposed to go in the front entrance. I guess it does look a little suspicious to be standing in front of the White House for -- half an hour? Really? -- sorry!

Wow, I'm going to be late. Oh, so that's why all those other cooks were headed around the back! Ah, here it is, the side entrance. These doors are a little less magnificent than the ones out front. I mean, they are just supposed to be for us unimportant types. Still, standing here, looking up at the side of the historic White House, I can't help but be excited for my first day as cook.... Cook?! I'm not a cook. Oh, right. That was the problem in the first place. Well, no matter what, I'm going to do my best to roast, grill, and stir-fry this country to a better place. I am so ready for my first day here. I can just imagine what it will be like: I'll stride in the doors with my fellow cooks and janitors and maids, and I'll introduce myself to everyone and they'll show me the ropes. They must have a talented staff here; this is the White House, after all. I'll learn so much so quickly!

And then, when lunch time is coming, I'll help cook Presidential Scrambled Eggs on Toast. With one hand, I'll flip the toast; with the other, oil the pan. I'll bring it to the president myself and tell him how honored I am to be working here. He'll be so impressed and love my fervor (and toast!) so much he'll make me his private chef. The president's right-hand chef! Can't be a good leader without good grub, he'll tell me. With my help, he'll turn the country around. Everyone will be cheering for us. I bet he'll thank me publicly! I'll be a superstar cook, the first of my kind!

And at the end of each day, when I go home, I can tell Cheryll and the kids all about how I helped the president be a good leader. They'll love to hear how I gain his confidence a bit more each day, how he slowly but surely comes to value my judgement and before you know it he's asking for my advice! Cook, schmook, I'll be the next national security expert! THEN my fancy lawyer cousin from New York will have nothing to brag about come Thanksgiving. Hah! I can't wait!

It all starts now. Just through these doors, to the kitchen and my destiny. I wonder where the kitchen is, actually. None of the people going in this door seem to be cooks. Maybe they go in another entrance. Excuse me sir? Do you know...? Oh, he's gone. Not very friendly for someone who helps support the country every day, is he. But I wonder where the other door is? I don't see one on this side of the building. Maybe if I look around the other side? Oh, there's a fence there. A big fence. I don't think I'm supposed to be there. The last thing I want is to be tackled by another big burly security guard. I'll just go back to the other door, then.

Oh, great, it's locked now. I guess everyone's already gone inside. Maybe if I knock? Hm, that doesn't seem to be doing much. That security camera on the wall sure is looking at me funny, though. Maybe it thinks I'm trying to break in! But I'm just knocking! I'll stop knocking. But then how can I get in?

This requires some thought. Just the kind of concerted effort I was trying to avoid by becoming a cook. Not just any cook, a great cook. A presidential cook. The ultimate cook. Wait, a cook? I'm not a cook. Why would they hire me to be a cook? I'm an administrative assistant. How silly of them. I don't think this is the door for administrative assistants anyway. Besides, the door is locked. I guess that's fair, it's nearly noon. Nearly noon! I'm late for work! I've got to hurry, the boss is mad enough already after that PepsiCo fiasco, I don't want to make him madder! I don't even know why I thought to take a trip to the White House on a Wednesday morning! And without the wife or kids! What was I thinking? I can be so scatterbrained sometimes. I should work on that.

Maybe I should get a job that requires less careful thought than secretarial work. Like a janitor? Nah, I could never handle the mess. Or a gardener? That might be fun, but I don't like too much sunlight. Ooh, how about a cook? Yeah, that might -- gah, I've got to stop daydreaming and get back to the car. Gotta hurry, gotta hurry -- I can't be late for work!