THE PRESIDENT'S BREAKFAST

The President's Breakfast

A Short Story For The Holiday Season 

Eliot had served three previous Presidents and up until the last year, he had thought that he had seen pretty much everything.  However, the previous incumbents had not prepared him for this. Nothing could have prepared him for this nightmare. He was due to retire in just over six months, but this morning, for the first time, he had begun to doubt that he could make it. It wasn’t the daily humiliation that got to him, he had known humiliation before, though had often enjoyed the satisfaction of those who had humiliated him be humiliated themselves in turn. No, it was much worse than that, it was watching the greatest elected office on the planet being daily degraded, humiliated in front of his eyes, and then in front of a global audience, and, to put it in language that he had suddenly become accustomed to hearing, being dragged through the shit.
That morning the bell had rung and he entered the presidential bedroom to find the President watching soft pornography on the TV.
“See that hot pussy Eliot, could you handle that? Could you manage a threesome, keep going all night, servicing one after the other? Well, I have Eliot, many times, they used to call me Cape Kennedy, one rocket going up after another. If you get my meaning...” The President then began to laugh, a course vulgar laughter like a hyena drunk on innuendo, a laugh that so grated precisely because it was laughter devoid of humour or human warmth. It was the laughter of a dictator. And when he thought of previous holders of the office… FDR, Ike, Obama, he felt a tear forming in his eye.
“So what’s for breakfast Eliot?”
The President was now sitting bolt upright, his silk dressing gown crumpled in such a way that it bore the legend, RUMP. But far from being a source of amusement this merely served to add to the grotesque pathos of the scene. The President switched the TV to Fox News.
“Pancakes with maple syrup Mr President, just as you ordered last night.
I never ordered that shit, I would remember, I have the best memory in the world Eliot, so don’t try and pull a fast one on me. No, I know what I want for breakfast, you know what I want for breakfast Eliot?
No, Mr President, I cannot say that I do.
Well, I’ll tell you then, I want a Big Mac, a proper Big Mac from McDonald’s, not some copied shit made up in the kitchen here. Go and get me a Big Mac Eliot, with lots of those ketchup sachets. Get to it.”
There was a pause as Eliot composed himself. “Very good Mr President I will see that a big Mac is ordered for you.
Did you not hear what I said? I said get me a Big Mac Eliot, with lots of those ketchup sachets, Comprehendo? That means you. You think you’re too high and mighty to stand queuing for a Big Mac? Well, it turns out you’re not. Now get gone and get the job done,- should take more than fifteen minutes.”
Eliot bit his lip, as he had done so many times before and left the President chuckling to himself.
It took him over thirty minutes to make the round trip and he was conscious that the Big Mac was getting colder by the second. He nodded to the sympathetic security officers on Duty, Mike and Delray, as they let him back into the service entrance of the White House. Both of whom he counted as friends and with whom he shared disgust of the President’s behaviour.
 As he entered the room, however, he could see that, tray put to one side, the President had already eaten.
“Too late, too late, too late, I said fifteen minutes, did you not Comprehendo? Eliot, I think I am going to have to fire you. I can’t have slackers and halfwits working for me…”
It was then that it happened. People talk about a red mist or a sudden loss of control. Eliot experienced something slightly different as well, more like a weight suddenly being lifted off his shoulders. He took the Big Mac out of its bag and thrust the burger full into the face of the President as he lay propped on the large bed. He then removed two sachets of ketchup and burst these over the President’s head. It all took less than thirty seconds, after which Eliot stepped back to examine his handiwork, with some satisfaction.
After a moment, the President seemed to recover from the shock and getting out of bed cried out in a muffled voice. “Shelppp, heell, ppp,” then finally wiping burger from his mouth shouted at the top of his lungs, HEELP!” This was enough to bring Mike and Delray come running, guns drawn. The site that greeted them, the President in a silk dressing gown, with mustard, pickle, burger bun and ketchup all over his face and shoulders was enough to stun them. “Mr President,” Delray began, but before he could say more the President was shouting and pointing at Eliot.
“Shoot him, shoot him, he has attacked your President. Shoot him, that’s an order.”
Now both Mike and Delray were willing to put their lives on the line to protect the President and carry out a range of actions that might be required of them. However, shooting Eliot was not one of those actions, though Eliot for his part looked perfectly willing to be shot, grinning as he was, rather vacantly, from ear to ear. The President’s the customary orange hue turned a deep red colour, he looked as if he were about to explode. It was then that Delray started laughing, Mike, looking at Eliot and enquired, “you pushed the Big Mac into his face?”
“Yes,” said Eliot, quietly, in a subdues matter of fact manner a confession so innocent it was funny. Mike could no longer contain himself and began laughing as well. On hearing the laughter other staff came to the room and, a strange spell having been broken, began laughing at the President too. Some took out cell phones and took pictures as the President stood frozen to the spot, his rage now turning into fear. He too began to sense that a spell had been broken. Finally, he seemed to tap into a reserve of self-awareness and turned around and went back into his bedroom closing the door behind him.
In the absence of the burger spattered President the laughter soon began to die down and, rather sheepishly, people began to return to their duties leaving just Eliot, Mike and Delany standing outside the closed doors of the President’s bedroom. Eliot seemed in a state of shock. It was Delany who then took charge of the situation. “Come on Eliot you need a stiff drink. Mike, we should confiscate the phones of anyone who took pictures, don’t you think? We have to protect the President from ridicule.”
As Mike began searching for any mobile phone footage of the incident, waving his badge and citing national security, Delany guided Eliot toward the service section where he fixed him a large brandy.
*******************************************************************************
The deal the President agreed to was succinct and uncomplicated. In exchange for keeping the mobile phone, and some CCTV footage out of the media, Eliot was allowed to retire on full pension six months early, whilst Mike and Delany were transferred from the White House to other, more dignified, duties.
As to the footage itself, well, after both Mike and Delray had fully briefed the Deputy Director of the FBI, that now sits securely inside his safe.     

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