|
In a hotel conference, room in a big city, a group of men and women, all in gray suites, with periwinkle blue, or powder blue, or Persian blue pen stripes, or blue suits with gray, or dark gray or light slate gray pen stripes sit around a long, luxurious Mayline Toscana 12 foot conference table, in Herman Miller chairs, and of course, and the food, is the best. The conference room is on the top floor. Staffers for the seven suits at the table line the wall, they are not in Herman Millers, but the folding chairs provided by the hotel. They are on laptops, and blackberry’s, looking up from the occasional note. Ready.
Everyone watches a video, of a focus group watching a video. The man sitting at the head of the table raises his hand, slightly. A staffer from behind pauses the video of a focus group watching a video. On the Sony 32” Plasma flat screen, the picture is frozen on a woman from Tacoma with a dial in her hand.
“Yes sir?” The eager 26-year-old staffer asks, ready with information, with spirit, with her very life for the campaign.
“Any more of those crab cakes? Those were some good crab cakes.”
The blue and gray suits nod and murmur, certainly the crab cakes were good, they were very good, in fact, they were delicious. While the murmuring continues, the staffer sends a staffer with the urgent message; more crab cakes needed.
The video starts again. Everyone watches, some with real, and most with feigned attention, many are just thinking about more crab cakes.
Another hand goes up. The video stops. A staffer jumps.
“Also, see if we can get some more of that cheese, that brie.”
Brie, was soon on its way, and another disaster was averted, and all would be well. The video starts again.
“He does have nice hair,” A gray suite woman remarks with a certain scowl, obviously, she hated people with nice hair, “Call Nora, and see if we can get her to make a joke about his hair.” These orders are barked to a blackberry wielding staffer, and fingers fly, and talking points are delivered.
After a few minutes of watching a video of a focus group, watching a video another hand goes up.
“Do we have anything on that?
“Anything on what Sir?” Ask the dedicated staffer. Different staffer, different sir.
“This 47 million Americans without health insurance. What do we have on that?”
“Well,” Stammers the staffer, ”Nothing sir.”
“Let’s get something, give it to the media, and they’ll report it as ours. Call Chris, or Tim.” Nods and happy agreement all around the table, and the staffer busies himself with his blackberry. Fingers fly and contacts are made, speeches are drafted, and favors are called in.
A minute or two goes by, and the group of gray and blue suits, suddenly, and nearly jumps out of their chairs as they watch a video of the focus group, watching a video.
“Did you see that?” Cries one suit.
“Holy Jesus,” Cries another, “I’ve never seen a spike like that in my life.” There is busy activity for a moment; everyone is very busy, and very serious. The staffers tried not to look up.
“That can not be real! It’s got to be some kind of glitch.”
“Could it have been what he said?” Moaned another suit.
“What did he say? I wasn’t listening.”
“Two-Hundred thousand homeless veterans!
“That can’t be true.” Declares another suit. Everyone shakes their heads, first the suites, then the staffers, and it’s always, in that order.
“Where the hell does he get those phony numbers?”
“I believe it was the Pentagon, er, ma’am.” Sometimes a staffer can be a little too smart for her own good.
“Oh.” The silence, now that the video has stopped, is just a little bit uncomfortable.
“Do we have anything on homeless vets?”
“Not yet ma’am.”
“Well GET something on them!”
“Yes ma’am.”
Fingers fly, talking points are delivered, and the crab cakes and brie arrive before anyone has time to complain about the service, along with bottled water. Everyone is happy again.
Annnnnnd, now!
“What the hell is that?” The suit actually stands, his Herman Miller rolls gracefully away, behind her.
The focus group is spiking again. This can’t be good.
“Where the hell does he get off, talking about the poor!” Another suit pounds a well-manicured hand on the redwood top of the conference table.
“Thirty-Seven million poor!” Scoffed another. “No way that’s right!”
“It’s about right, sir.” This staffer will never work in politics again. This staffer will be taking a bus back to Toledo, where she will be taking orders, at Denny’s.
“Then do something about it! We can’t have this, this, this crap out there! The poor. Next thing you know the poor will start voting.”
Again, fingers fly the talking points are delivered to the surrogates, and the suits settle in, while the staffers sit on pens and needles. And on folding chairs.
Again, a hand goes up. “What’s this economic stimulus package thing?”
The staffers glance from one to another nervously, no one wants to answer any more questions today, finally, a brave kid from Florida takes the bullet.
“It’s a 100 billion dollar package for unemployed workers, and the hardest hit state and local governments. It also has public, um, investment in alternative energy.”
“Economic Stimulus package.” One suit tries out the words, slowly, perhaps just seeing how they feel.
“Sounds boring,” Offers another suit, with a snort, it’s the hair woman. “How are you going to put that on a bumper sticker?”
There’s laughter.
“Any-who,” Ponders another suit aloud, it’s kind of hard to tell them apart now, “Let’s get our economic guys, together with our business guys and get something on this economic stimulus package thingie. You know, just in case the voters start paying attention.”
And more laughter.
“This guys becoming a major pain in the ass,” Complains a suit, as she pulls her chair back to the big table. The others agree. "We might actually have to do something about this guy."
"Any ideas?"
The faces around the table are blank. The staffers bite their lips.
Finally someone speaks.
“I know Chuck Todd,” Bravely offers the future waitress from Toledo, “He asked me out once.” All the suits, at once, turn and look at her. It's blinding. “Um, I could probably get him to say something like the guy should drop out of the race, for the good of the... party?” She feels light headed, like she may faint. Maybe Denny’s is not in her future.
The silence that follows is three beats.
“Perfect,” Says one suit.
“I love it!” Exclaims another.
“Get on it.”
The decision is made. Fingers fly. Orders are given, and the talking points are delivered.
“Yeah, well put it out there on one of the Sunday morning shows. That economic thingie.”
"Good idea."
"No, great idea."
Fingers fly. Orders are given.
“Crab cakes were good.” Chimes in another suit. “What’s for dinner?”
And, they settle in. As fingers fly. Orders are given, and the talking points are delivered.
|
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(1000+ posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
