I sat with my back against the dingy mattress that was my
bed, silently staring at the ceiling. Too tired to get my pajamas on, and too
dignified to get into bed without proper attire, I had bound myself to a limbo
of apathy, of which I could easily break yet chose not to. My eyes traced the
edges of the peeling paint, lingering only to inspect the various insects that
had been ensnared by spider webs. Some still struggled; their bodies twisting
this way and that, only to become further bound to their fate, and eventually
giving up from exhaustion. I was not like them. I was not physically bound to
the place in which I sat. Yet I stayed there none the less. It was not until
some time had passed that I realized I was already in my pajamas; I had not
taken them off all day. I crawled into bed and slept.
In the morning, I began my routine. Wake up. Use the
bathroom. Go back to bed. Wake up a second time. Realize I was late. Down a cup
of coffee and ride my bike across the street to my job at the local burger joint.
In my past, upon arrival my father, the owner of said establishment, would yell
at me for being late even though I lived so close. He had long since given up
on trying to change me, and spent the mornings in the back, counting what
little money we took in. And little money it was; for the customers that could
stomach our piles of grease and cheese were few in number. Once I had finished
my shift, I would go home and play video games until I dragged myself into bed.
This was the way my life had been for the past ten years, and it had grown on
me; it was comforting to know nothing unexpected would happen.
Unbeknownst to me, a dastardly prank
was being concocted by my so called “friends”. Using the power of the ever
expanding internet, they had spread one solitary message across the nation
without my knowledge: “Make Pat Patrikson (my name) president!” My two friends
had posted it on every blog they ran, simply as a joke, and soon got bored and
forgot about it. It spread like wildfire. Soon, enough write-in votes had been
received for my name to be put on the ballot for the position of president of
the United States of America. And yet, all of this happened without any of my knowledge.
Voting day rolled around. I suppose people thought to themselves as they sat in
those voting booths: “All these candidates are corrupt. But this guy, Pat
Patrikson, I’ve never heard anything about him. Whoever he is, he’s got to be
better than these nincompoops. I’ll vote for him!” Or at least that’s how I
imagine I became president. And president I became, all the while knowing
nothing about it.
And so, one day as I was brushing my
teeth, a knock came at my door. Answering it, I was suddenly faced with a
multitude of men dressed in black, several armored cars, a limo, and a herd of
brightly clad news reporters. I in my green boxers, red socks, and company
T-shirt, was astounded. My toothbrush left my mouth and before it could hit the
welcome mat I was being ushered into the limo.
It was a very awkward drive, with me
hearing the congratulations of various government agents and questioning what
in the world was going on. A day later, I had been sworn in and sat in the seat
of so many great men before me, still wearing the dumbfound expression I had
been swept away with. Someone had been sent to my house to retrieve my
belongings, among which was the only suit I owned; a red and orange plaid one,
with a neon green tie and brass cuff links, which I wore every day. Eventually my
friends came to visit, and after slogging through the many layers of security
(hastened not by me, even though I had insisted they weren’t going to harm me),
promptly explained to me what they had done.
Time passed. I felt alone in a room
full of people. Though I was constantly surrounded, they were nothing like me.
Their formal ways clashed with my casual attitude, creating a cloud of
awkwardness that followed me through the halls. My own assistants, realizing my
incompetence, usually took care of everything for me. There wasn’t much for me
to do; just show up here, give a speech, kiss a baby, and sign off on a bill.
It was rather boring. I even managed to fall into a routine which, though it
was much different from my old one, was a routine none the less, and gave me
comfort.
But even this peace did not last.
War broke out in some distant country, and America immediately got involved,
much to the dismay of everyone. I had always wondered how that happened: war.
No one wanted to fight, no one wanted to get involved, yet it always seemed to
happen. Now, as president, I realized it was because we felt a need to help the
innocent people who didn’t even have a choice in joining the war, those who
were left homeless or orphaned by the newest terrorist group or corrupt leader.
But, even with this knowledge, I still didn’t understand. We as a country had
so many problems at home which had not been addressed.
But back on track, for this
particular war I was called day after day into the so called “War Room”. It consisted of a long table surrounded by
multiple black chairs, each occupied by some person of power. The far wall was
covered from floor to ceiling with T.V.’s, each one showing a particular aspect
of the war, be it live action or replay. It was in this room that I sat for
much of my day and occasionally some of my nights, listening to the many voices
speaking of what actions to take. Every now and then, someone would turn to me
and ask, “What do you think, Mr. President?” followed by everyone going silent
and focusing their attention on me. I would give vague answers like “What would
you do?” or “Whatever you think is right.” They would stare at me, and
eventually nod their heads as if I were some ancient philosopher who had just
put forth the meaning of life, causing them to rethink their very existence.
One day, while counting the ceiling tiles
in the War Room, my eyes wandered to the wall of screens. After drifting from
glowing rectangle to glowing rectangle, something caught my attention. I sat
foreword in my seat. This was it. The moment I had been waiting for. Someone
asked me a question. A very important question, I learned later; one that
changed the course of the war. I don’t know what it was though, for at that
moment all I could focus on was one solitary television. And as the question
left the man’s lips, the screensaver with the logo on it that bounced from edge
to edge of the disconnected television hit the corner. The exact corner. Corner to edge. Perfect fit. A one in a million
chance, and I had gotten to witness it. Before I knew what I was doing I shot
up out of my chair and screamed,
“Yes! Yes! Oh gosh yes!”
“Wow, uh, didn’t know you were so
enthusiastic about this, Mr. President.” Said the man who had asked the
question. And so the order was given, changing the outcome of the war for the
better by saving thousands of lives, though no one knew it at the time.
“What?” I replied.
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