A Story for Our Time

Once upon a time, I was invited to the White House for a private dinner with the President. dinner rollsI am a respected businessman, with a factory that produces memory chips for computers and portable electronics. There was some talk that my industry was being scrutinized by the administration, but I paid it no mind. I live in a free country. There’s nothing that the government can do to me if I’ve broken no laws. My wealth was earned honestly, and an invitation to dinner with an American President is an honor.

I checked my coat, was greeted by the Chief of Staff, and joined the President in a yellow dining room. We sat across from each other at a table draped in white linen. The Great Seal was embossed on the china. Uniformed staff served our dinner.

The meal was served, and I was startled when my waiter suddenly reached out, plucked a dinner roll off my plate, and began nibbling it as he walked back to the kitchen.

“Sorry about that,” said the President. “Andrew is very hungry.”

“I don’t appreciate…” I began, but as I looked into the calm brown eyes across from me, I felt immediately guilty and petty. It was just a dinner roll.

“Of course,” I concluded, and reached for my glass. Before I could, however, another waiter reached forward, took the glass away and swallowed the wine in a single gulp.

“And his brother Eric is very thirsty.” said the President. I didn’t say anything. The President is testing my compassion, I thought. I will play along. I don’t want to seem unkind. My plate was whisked away before I had tasted a bite.

“Eric’s children are also quite hungry.” With a lurch, I crashed to the floor. My chair had been pulled out from under me. I stood, brushing myself off angrily, and watched as it was carried from the room.

“And their grandmother can’t stand for long.” I excused myself, smiling outwardly, but inside feeling like a fool. Obviously I had been invited to the White House to be sport for some game. I reached for my coat, to find that it had been taken. I turned back to the President.

“Their grandfather doesn’t like the cold,” he said. I wanted to shout- that was my coat! But again, I looked at the placid smiling face of my host and decided I was being a poor sport. I spread my hands helplessly and chuckled. Then I felt my hip pocket and realized my wallet was gone. I excused myself and walked to a phone on an elegant side table. I learned shortly that my credit cards had been maxed out, my bank accounts emptied, my retirement and equity portfolios had vanished, and my wife had been thrown out of our home. Apparently, the waiters and their families were moving in. The President hadn’t moved or spoken as I learned all this, but finally I lowered the phone into its cradle and turned to face him.

“Andrew’s whole family has made bad financial decisions. They haven’t planned for retirement, and they need a house. They recently defaulted on a subprime mortgage. I told them they could have your home. They need it more than you do.” My hands were shaking. I felt faint. I stumbled back to the table. The President cheerfully cut his meat, ate is steak and drank his wine.

“By the way,” He added, “I have just signed an Executive Order nationalizing your factories. I’m firing you as head of your business. I’ll be operating the firm now for the benefit of all mankind. There’s a whole bunch of Erics and Andrews out there and they can’t come to you for jobs groveling like beggars.” I looked up. The President dropped his spoon into the empty ramekin which had been his creme brulee. He drained the last drops of his wine. As the table was cleared, he lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. He stared at me. I clung to the edge of the table as if were a ledge and I were a man hanging over an abyss. I thought of the years behind me, of the life I had lived. The life I had earned with a lifetime of work, risk and struggle. Why was I punished? How had I allowed it to be taken? What game had I played and lost? I looked across the table and noticed with some surprise that there was no game board between us. What had I done wrong? As if answering the unspoken thought, the President suddenly cocked his head, locked his eyes to mine, and bared a million teeth, chuckling wryly as he folded his hands.

“You should have stopped me at the dinner roll,” he said.

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5 Responses to A Story for Our Time

  1. Joy says:

    This is wonderful Laura. I think this is one of the biggest problems we have today. Too many people seem to feel entitlement for things they haven’t earned. They want something for nothing. I feel it’s one of the things that bother me the most about people today. Needing help is one thing. Taking advantage is another. There is way too much of it and I feel it has to stop.

  2. SKL says:

    Ohh, this is so true! Ugh, it’s all I can do to maintain my composure with all that’s going on nowadays.

    If I had a nickel for every time B.O. said “we gotta do this NOW or else,” it might make up for the amount of lost interest and increased taxes he’s cost me so far.

    So now, he’s saying it again about health care. “We gotta do it NOW or – what? What is it about “now” that is so different from a year ago, two years ago, or two years from now? He doesn’t want to give the American public a chance to see what he’s about to do to us, until it’s irreversible. That’s all.

    My sister has been out of work since before Christmas, with no health insurance and no mortgage relief. What she wants is a job. Not a subsidy. Her employer didn’t renew her contract expressly because Obama was elected. How can a business grow or even maintain when the government is promising to increase taxes and tax-like requirements?

  3. mssc54 says:

    If there weren’t so much truth in this it would be humerous.

    I’ve got to get to work now so Andrew’s family will stop stealing from White House guests.

  4. Just a Mom says:

    Great post! If I wanted to live in a Socialist society then I would move to a Socialist country.

  5. J.W. Nicklaus says:

    Just wait, Just A Mom . . . like MSSC said, there is more truth to the story than be told. We are precarioiusly upon the brink of the United Socialist States of America.

    Like the peal of that bell?

    No, neither do I. Luckily, we’ll still have Progressives around to tell our children how to live, what to read, what they can eat, and how sick they can get.

    Somebody stop the merry-go-round,please–it doesn’t feel so merry anymore, and I’m nauseous.

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