Party Animal

 

The time is the not-too-distant future.

I’m a freshman member of Congress, newly arrived in Washington.

I’m excited about the upcoming session.  I promised my constituents that I’d make a difference.  And, I will.  I will!

Tonight, my party’s having a get-together to welcome the new legislators.  A party party, you could say.

I can’t wait.  To be in the same room with the men and women who shape our nation’s future will be awesome.  No doubt they’ll be discussing critical upcoming legislation and profound political philosophy.

But – when I arrive at the party, I overhear one group discussing golf scores, another telling bawdy stories, and still another talking about the best place for prime rib.  It’s not what I expected.

Finally, a crusty old Senator ambles over and takes me aside.  Putting his arm around my shoulders, he asks, “What are your goals, son?”

Now we’re getting somewhere, I think.  A meaningful conversation.

“To work for the good of the American people, sir,” I reply.

He chokes on his bourbon.  “Hey, Bob,” he calls, “come over here.  We got us another one.  It’s the old Good-of-the-People bit.  Where do they find these kids?”

He directs his attention back to me.  ‘Do you approve of partisan politics?” he asks cagily.

“Well … ah … not really, sir,” I respond uncertainly.  “I believe it’s better if we all try to work together.  That’s the only way we can accomplish anything worthwhile.”

“Oh, brother,” he moans.  “You’re greener than old cheese.”

I’m quickly ushered into a backroom where a half dozen other freshman legislators are gathered.

“What’s going on?” I ask nervously.

“Sensitivity deprogramming,” a senior member of the House says.  “All of you in here are infected with dangerous degrees of idealism.”

As the veteran legislators leave, a guy who looks like a drill sergeant enters the room.

“Line up!” he roars at the same decibel level as a lunar launch.  “Facing me!”

We do as he says.

Instinctively, I try not to make eye contact.  But it’s too late.  He gets right in my face and screams, “What are you here to protect, rookie?”

I don’t know what to say.  But I’m quickly getting the feeling that whatever I say, it’ll be wrong.

“Ahh … the Constitution?” I mumble.

“No, you moron!” he shrieks.  “What are you here to protect?”

“The … the Bill of Rights?” I barely whisper.

“The status quo, you idiot!” he yells.  “Now – what are you here to protect?”

“The … ah … the status quo?”

“I can’t hear you!” he bellows.

“The status quo,” I bark back.

“The status quo what?”

“The status quo, sir!”  I’m catching on.

Over the next seventy-two hours, I’m drilled unmercifully.  I learn that my number one job is to discredit the other party.  My number two job is to get reelected.  I’m assured that everything else will take care of itself.

I’m taught the three answers that will always get me out of trouble.

1.  No comment;

2.  That’s irrelevant;

3.  I’ve been quoted out of context.

I have to attend several intense training sessions, with titles like Remedial Sound Bites, It’s Only Money, and So You’re Going to be on C-SPAN.

Does my sensitivity deprogramming work?

I’m not sure.

For a week, I walk around in a fog.

I feel edgy, disoriented, and vulnerable.

Then, one day, I realize I’m waiting in line at the bank to cash my PAC check, cheerfully daydreaming of gridlock and my first filibuster.

Suddenly, it hits me. 

I’ve become the real thing – a US legislator.  What a significant moment.  I’m so overwhelmed, so emotional, that tears come to my eyes. 

But, that’s okay.

It’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to.