The Big Date

This spring idea was really starting to take hold. The trees apparently thought it was OK to show some green; I hadn't seen a black ice slab on the roads in a month. So maybe I had actually survived winter -- bleakness, Bush, and all. I was even starting to feel almost cocky. Being on my own for months, though, had left me feeling desirous of female companionship. Unfortunately, there aren't a whole lot of eligible, attractive females in Delaware County, NY. The jokes about farm animals start to sound disturbingly viable after you're up here for a while. But, against all odds, I had made the acquaintance of a woman whom I'll call Jane.

Jane was affable, had a decent sense of humor, and was fairly easy on the eyes. I had met her comparing wild bird seed types at the supermarket, and I said to myself that anyone I can talk bird seed with merits an invitation to dinner, which she accepted. And so we were on.

We went to an Italian restaurant converted from an old train station. A nice place, other than the proprietors' choice to flash a lightning special effect and play steam engine noises every half hour or so. They were absolutely making sure you hadn't missed the fact that you were eating in a converted railway station, and the lightning was to somehow connote an even greater historicity. "Yeah, the good old days of steam engines and... lightning." Er, if you say so.

We'd gotten as far as our appetizer and endured two rendezvous's with "the good old days" when I noticed that the table next to us had an oversized "RESERVED" sign on it. Although Jane thought nothing of it, I had my suspicions. I had listed the reservation under the name "Cody Jarrett", a name I thought inconspicuous and anonymous, only remembering too late that it was James Cagney's title character name in the film "White Heat." It was that thought which was crossing my mind when he strode into the restaurant like he owned the place.

"Well look who it is, if it's not my old friend Cody Jarrett! And I thought you blew up on top of a gas tower!" Dubya gave me hearty slap on the back.
"Now isn't this a small world, me deciding to dine here tonight and getting seated right next to my good friend Cody. And who do we have here, Co'? This certainly isn't Ma Jarrett!" Chuckling, he gave me another slap on the back.
"No George, This my date. Jane, President Bush. President Bush, Jane."
"Why you old decider you -- I'd given you up for dead in your undershorts! Well I'm glad to see I'm not your only source of social intercourse."
"George, d'ya think you might just leave me alone this one time?"
"Weh...Shucks -- I just got here, friend. And I hear the clams casino are terrific! Just hope they're not like those prairie oysters I tried the other night. Weird shit..."
"Listen, I just heard on the radio that there's yet another storm brewing, this time over your choice to replace the CIA Director who quit."
"What storm? Hayden's a fine man -- a fine man..."
"But what do you really know about him?"
"Listen, I know all I need to know. His name is Hayden, and one of my favorite film performances is by Sterling Hayden in Dr. Strangelove."
"You selected him because he made you think of Sterling Hayden, the film actor?!" Dubya turned his palms up and out in front of him.
"How else do you think these kinda decisions get made?"
"But what about his political savvy, his experience in the intelligence community?"
"Now what in the hell does that matter? You think anyone on the hill has got a clue whether to put their shoes over their socks or vice versa? Hell no. Especially the intellligence community. If I need a good spy I go to one of those surveilllance shops I see online. Now those fellas are the real deal." I could not think of an appropriate response.

"George, this is disturbing news. So who's protecting you tonight? Where're your special agents Tiny Tim and Zelda?"
"They're on assignment safeguarding Cheney. He's out night huntin'."
"Night hunting? Sounds dangerous. Didn't you try to stop him?"
"Me and Dick have a deal. He lets me do whatever I want, and I let him and Rumsfeld blow up whatever country they feel like."
"That's outrageous -- I'm calling my Senator."
"Oh will you hush up! Besides, who're you gonna call, Hillary? Yeah, that'll get'r done." Dubya had left me speechless. I had no choice but to change the subject.

"So what agents do we have with us this evening?"
"Well, you see that midget with the beret over in the corner?"
"I think the politically correct thing to say is 'Little Person'".
"Oh, c'mon, cut it with that 'politically correct' shit, okay? Anyway, Henry, I mean 'On-ree' as he likes to call himself, is one of our best people."
Dubya lowered his voice.
"You see this pinky?"
Dubya raised his left hand and extended his pinky.
"If I touch my left pinky to the top of my right ear, On-ree will poke your eyes out before you can say 'Antonio Scalia'".
"I believe his name is 'Antonin'".
"What'd I'd say?"
"Antonio."
"Oh fer Christ's sake, what's the difference?! You knew who I was talkin' about. First it's the midget crap, and now this. That's what's wrong with you liberals -- you spend so much time worrying about nitpicky shit like that. Jane, does he get nitpicky with you?"

And so it went for the rest of the evening, Dubya pulling up his chair to our table, being amiable enough to withstand for a few hours (as if I had a choice). He loved it every time the trains & lightning went off, and even asked for an unscheduled extra run. He kept talking to Jane, wanted to know all about her life, telling her what a great cook Laura was, etc., pretty much leaving me out of the conversation. I don't know if Jane liked him or not, but then I guess I'll never really know as she doesn't return my phone calls now. Chalk another one up for the Big Guy.

One day soon I'm going to have to figure out how to avoid this man. But until then I'm just going to have bide my time, ever listening for that West Texas accent, and keeping an eye out for little people in berets. ***