Overheard

Contest Winner for the 02/19/07 round of "The Writer's Cramp" 
Prompt: In honor of President's Day in the US, write about an encounter with a US President - current, historical, or speculative future!
Word count: 998


I spied the all-too-familiar-looking couple as they darted inside the diner. I knew I wouldn’t miss my chance for a scoop—whatever it was—so I braved the heavy downpour, abandoned the shelter the dingy phone booth provided, and made my way across the street. Does everything in this part of town have to look so run-down?

         I entered the diner, silently cursed at the loud jingling a hidden bell made as I stepped through the glass door, and scanned the room. I saw the pair in a booth at the far end of the restaurant, huddled over their plastic laminated menus—the lady still wearing her dark sunglasses; the gentleman, laughably had the hood of his slicker still draped over his head. If they weren’t trying to look suspicious, they certainly were not doing a good job at it. Surprisingly, none of the other patrons (about a dozen in total at the time) seemed to have been privy to the arrival of the world renowned couple. I found a counter seat that gave me an excellent vantage point, and sat down.

         The waitress approached the couple, and snapped her gum before she spoke. “What can I get ya, folks?”

         “Please give us a little more time to decide,” the lady gently said, looking up at the waitress, but still refusing to remove her shades.

         “Awright. I’ll bring you guys some coffee.”

         “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

         The rotund waitress walked back toward the counter, nonchalantly smacking the gum in her mouth as she did so. Does she really have to be so stereotypical? (It was also clear that she was still unaware of the couple’s identities or is choosing not to acknowledge it.) I pulled out my mini-recorder, attached the microphone booster that I bought for such occasions, and donned my white headphones (that came with my iPod) to make me look less conspicuous. I set the recorder on the counter, and positioned it so that it pointed directly toward the couple, who had, by then, begun speaking with each other in hushed tones. The rain and wind started to beat against the diner windows, making for a perfect soundtrack to the unfolding scene. This is it! This is my exclusive! Who knew that this diner was their secret meeting place to talk about important issues? The gentleman leaned over the table to say something to his wife, but it was indiscernible to me. I turned up the volume on my recorder in time to hear the lady’s response.

         “I don’t support that idea, dear.” I could hear the distress in her voice, and imagined it also showing in her eyes, which were still hidden behind her Dolce & Gabanas.

         “You have to,” the gentleman quickly retorted. “You have no choice but to support me in this matter.” This is great! Could they be discussing the controversial “Spinach Leaves Alternate Fuel” proposal that he stated in his recent address he wholeheartedly supported? (Everyone knows that’s a spendy, ridiculous venture. And the pundits got quite a chuckle about it.) Or, could the “Americans Can Spell Potato” initiative be the cause for her trepidation?

         She paused before replying. “It’s too dangerous, especially for you.”

         Dangerous? Whoa. I wonder if he’s going to be taking that secret trip to the Middle East, which has been the hottest rumor flying around the Capitol all week. The gentleman sat back in his seat, and folded his arms across his chest. “Everything is dangerous these days. Don’t be so naïve.”

         “Well, I want no part in it. You can kill yourself if you want.”

         This is great! The “Mrs” is not supporting her husband on what could possibly be the biggest, most important stance in US politics! What a scoop!

         The gentleman leaned in a little closer toward his wife, rising slightly from his seat—an obvious gesture of power. “How many times do I have to tell ya?” he began, “I’m the decider, and I say we’re gonna have calamari as an appetizer!”

         C-Calamari?!

         The lady looked resignedly at her husband. “What about your cholesterol, dear?”

         “Ah, piss on my cholesterol! That darn doctor doesn’t really care about me.”

         Wait! What about my scoop?! You can’t possibly be just talking about food?!

         She shook her head, and resumed scanning the menu. “I think we should start with some green salad. And, go light on the dressing, y’hear me?”

         “I’m gonna have calamari whether you like it or not! I’m the gosh-darned President of the United States, and I’m gonna have something deep-fried and salty as all get up even if it kills me!”

         “Well, it will kill you sooner or later.”

         The President leaned back against his chair. From the short distance, I could see a triumphant grin on his profile. The waitress finally returned with the couple’s coffee, and pulled out her order pad. She addressed the First Lady first. “Well, what’ll it be?”

         “I’ll have a green salad with vinaigrette on the side, and your tuna salad sandwich.”

         The waitress jotted something down with her diner shorthand, and then regarded the President. “And, you, sir?”

         Despite his show of machismo earlier, the President looked at his wife before responding. The lady shrugged her shoulders. “Well, you are the President.”

         This elicited a smile from the still-hooded man, who looked up at the waitress and ordered his calamari with an unmistakable air of jubilance in his voice. “And, I’ll have a double-cheese burger and extra French—I mean, Freedom fries.” His wife shook her head.

         “Comin’ right up,” the portly diner waitress proclaimed before walking away from the table.

*****

A half-hour of audio footage yielded other inane discussions from the couple— their upcoming trip to Martha’s Vineyard; shopping for rare rhubarb; altering the tuxedo he’s outgrown (among other subject matters)—before I turned off my recorder, paid two bucks for lousy coffee, got up, and exited the diner.

         Outside, the rain continued to pour.