Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Breaking Into The White House, Lovely Leah, My Sunglasses, And Erin Gets Punched

Alright, enough of this Thanksgiving and holiday foolishness. Time to get back to work!
My lovely sister Cheryl was "stunned" that the couple, Tareq and Michaele Salahi were able to crash President Obama's first official state dinner, penetrating White House security, and putting the Secret Service to shame. Well I've researched this subject thoroughly, and this morning have finally discovered the explanation of what happened exactly. Dear Cheryl, you don't have to worry over our President's safety. It appears that the two were invited to the event, and this whole episode has been one big tremendous mistake. Tareq and Michaele said so! To Matt Lauer, so it must be true. Whew, I was worried there myself for a little while considering that threats to Obama are up 400% since he took office.
There does remain one troubling aspect to this event which must be examined before we can put this behind us. Robert Gibbs, the White House press spokesman said yesterday that the Salahi's had definitely not been invited.
So as Elwood P. Dowd stated in the play, "Harvey," and I paraphrase, here we have one person who says one thing, and another who says the opposite, which always makes for a lively conversation!
I personally am a stickler for all matters regarding safety and security. To prove this I point to the fact that I lock the door to my box every time I leave it. And its surrounded by a large, stinky moat. And I have a army corporal who thinks the Vietnam War is still going on guarding it.
It does seem that when the Secret Service should be most alert they dropped the ball, and may have been asleep at the wheel as well. To answer your question, dear sister, no, I have not heard of something like this happening before, unless you count the male prostitute, Jeff Gannon, who posed as a journalist in the White House Press Corps, who lobbed soft ball questions to President Bush during troublesome press conferences. But that maybe... just maybe... had been staged.
There does seem to be one point of contention regarding this mess. It would appear that the usual protocol for these types of affairs would include a representative from the White House Social Office on duty along with the Secret Service, who's job it was to make sure that this type of thing never happened. Apparently Obama's staff did not deem this step necessary. Perhaps they were wrong. I do believe this... this will never happen again. Not to this President at least.
Now on to more important matters, like the potential loss of my sunglasses.
I love my sunglasses. I wear them almost every time I go outside. During daylight hours that is. I'm not one of those people who wear sunglasses at night, or indoors. I actually use them because bright sunlight hurts my poor little peepers.
Well last Sunday night I made it all the way to the bus stop at 14th and Wilshire, in Santa Monica, before I realized I did not have my sunglasses with me. They must have fell out of my jacket pocket when I had taken it off during the service at Risen Church.
Christ! I decided to go back and see if anyone was still there. I had other sunglasses back at my box, but this particular pair I've had for probably the last ten years. They are nice, round sunglasses, like the glasses John Lennon once wore, and I liked them. Everybody liked them. They were highly coveted.
So I quickly walked all the way back to 11th and California, to the Trinity Baptist Church, where Risen holds its services.
I was mad at myself for not having checked my pockets before leaving. I slapped myself silly.
Young members of the young congregation were still milling about the entrance as young people tend to do. But I found the door to the stairway to the basement where the service is held was already closed and locked. I grimaced appropriately, turned around about ready to head back to the bus stop, when I heard, "Rick, Rick, do you need to get in there?"
I turned around to find that Erin's roommate, the lovely and ravishing Leah (don't get jealous, Erin. You're ravishing too) was still there, and it was her asking if I needed to get back inside. I did.
You can find, dear readers, a picture of Leah above. She's the one on the left. Erin is the one on the right. And my cousin Gertrude from Poughkeepsie is the one in the middle. I had no idea that Gertrude knew Erin, let alone Leah, or how it came to pass that they were hanging out together in some seedy sports bar. But I can't dispute the photographic evidence! So there you are.
"I left my sunglasses in there, Leah," I told her.
"Those were yours?" she asked.
"Let me go get them for you," she said, then got the keys from some guy, then disappeared inside to retrieve my stupid sunglasses.
I guess they had found my glasses while cleaning up.
Leah, along with being lovely, is very nice. She takes it upon herself to look after me at the services when Erin is not there, which so far has been like 75% of the time. I like her very much for doing that. Our conversations up to this point are somewhat... abbreviated, but most are between people who don't know each other very well at church services. She works for that shoe company that gives away pairs of shoes to people in third world countries for each pair they sell in the U.S., and had recently returned from a trip to Argentina. She also sings like an angel. I look forward to getting to know her better, or at least as much as she'd like to get to know an old man like me.
But I'm still extremely cute for my age.
She soon returned with my sunglasses.
"Thank you so much, Leah. I've had these for the last ten years."
"Are you serious."
"Yes, I think so."
"I can't keep a pair of sunglasses a month."
I left her so she could return to her friends and made my way back to the bus stop and back to my box, where I exercised until eleven thirty before going to bed. I ate a hot dog too. Polish sausage really.
At around eleven, my lovely and ravishing case manager, Erin, was returning from her weekend trip to Temecula. She had some left over sushi with her. I don't know why.
After she parked her car, and on her way to her apartment, she noticed what appeared to be a homeless lady sitting on the sidewalk, along with what looked like all of her worldly possessions. Erin, being Erin, offered her her left over sushi to eat, which she refused. I don't blame her.
"But can you sit and talk with me awhile?" she asked.
Erin, being Erin, acquiesced, even though the homeless lady... Mary it turns out, appeared to have been drinking. Vodka. The half empty pint bottle of vodka was a good indication.
Erin spoke with Mary for about an hour, although Erin was very tired. I have no idea what they discussed, though I do know from experience that is never a good idea to talk to people who are drunk, as Mary appeared to be, and who continued to drink her vodka. People who are drinking generally don't remember what you say to them effectively making the whole conversation completely pointless, but Erin did not realize this at the time, and did the nice thing by keeping Mary company for a while, and listening perhaps to her tale of woe.
I don't think Erin will ever do this again, because when Mary had finished her vodka, and after she had thrown Erin's sushi all over the street, Mary backhanded poor Erin straight in the kisser. Erin bit her tongue while this happened, and was more embarrassed that the men in the liquor store across the street had witnessed this, than she was hurt.
Erin quickly said her goodbyes to Mary and went home. Mary was nowhere to be found the next morning as Erin left for work, although her belongings were still there. Perhaps the Santa Monica police had offered her a place to stay for the night. Perhaps they had insisted upon it.
Well there seems to be lessons to be learned for all involved here. If you can find out what they are, dear readers, please let me know.

No comments:

Post a Comment