Dear Mr. President
By the end of it Mr. President I was so turned around I wasn't sure I would ever find my way. I was concerned, while driving around and around the beltway watching exit numbers get higher, and then inexplicably lower, that I might be the victim of map sabotage perpetrated by a disgruntled Google employee. "Good one, disgruntled employee", I was almost ready to concede, "there is no exit 176b." As it turns out though Mr. President, just on the other side of hopelessness there often lies small reward (there is an exit 176b). And even if that small reward is just a smear of potted meat on a failure sandwich, how can we not take consolation in that moment where out of darkness (a word describing my mood in traffic) appears light, however dim that light may be?
In response to the unprecedented mass of hysterical citizens you have inspired to join you on Jan. 20, an area commuter train service has decided, for one day only, to offer reserved seats in and out of Union Station, which is close to the end of your parade route, and the Capitol building in front of which you will be taking oath. Despite much conversation and planning regarding the many issues of inconvenience (road closures, parking restrictions, and 4 million competitors) surrounding our efforts to be part of your spectacle I, acting as agent for my party, decided to hand deliver my check and order form to the commuter train administrative office. I drove 70 miles to get there, plus an extra 40 driving back and forth on the beltway, before finding my exit. This offer was only available by mail and no calls were being accepted regarding status of orders, so I didn't bother calling about anything, which of course gives you the ending where the woman behind the desk says, '"it wouldn't be fair to the others." After which she told me there was a mailbox outside and that in her opinion (eagerly seconded by the bobbing head of her assistant), I was probably in time to at least be realistically considered as a contender for this last minute lottery for a pretty damn hot ticket. While driving those two and a half hours to hand deliver my order I had played out in my head the scenario of failure, but only briefly. The way it was going to end, I was sure, was with a wink and a nod and me being on the inside track. I suppose I should have seen that unlikely parking space in front of the building and the meter with the word "Fail" as omen.
I am for the time being Mr. President, going to buy into the simple-minded one word of your promise, and Hope that everything is going to be Cool and copacetic and that on a Tuesday not too far away I and 4 million of my closest friends will be able to easily hang with you under sunny skies on an unseasonably warm day.
To end sir, let me say that I know these efforts of mine are miniscule in comparison to what you have endured these last two years and will endure for at least the next four. Congratulations on your victory and may you have good luck dealing with what surely appears to be a messy inheritance.
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