Cabinet Making 101

 

An aide to the U.S. Secretary of State knocks on the door of the ornate office and waits for permission to enter.

“Come in,” calls a tired voice from within.

The aide, Jasper “Jaz” Dinwittie, steps inside. The Secretary of State, fourth in the line of succession to the presidency, is slumped in his chair, his forehead resting on the desk, a soft moaning sound emanating from his lips.

“Mr. Secretary,” Dinwittie says, “up and at ’em, sir. The cabinet meeting begins in about an hour. Remember, you’ll be speaking first today during the public session with the cameras rolling.”

“Ah, geez, do we have to do this again? We just performed this ridiculous ass-kissing ritual last week. You’ve got to get me out of it, Jaz.”

“Sorry, Mr. Secretary. I’m afraid the president insists. You know the Nobel Peace Prize will be announced any day now.”

“God help us! Can’t the Swedes just give him the dang prize so we can all get on with our lives?”

“Doesn’t work that way, sir.”

“I mean, what if we removed their tariffs? What about that? What if we said all Volvos and Saabs were completely tariff-free? Would they give it to him then?”

“Wishful thinking, Mr. Secretary.”

“And would somebody please tell Steve Witkoff that it is the ‘Nobel Prize,’ not the ‘Noble Prize?’ No-BELL! It’s embarrassing enough when Secretary McMahon refers to AI as A-one.”

“We’ll take care of that, sir. Okay now, let’s go down the checklist. Do you have your statement praising the president ready to go?”

“Yeah, here it is.” He hands a sheet of paper to Dinwittie, who reads it aloud.

“Let’s see, ‘It is an honor to serve with a leader whose leadership shows the leaders of the world how to lead.’ Hmmm…I’m afraid this won’t do, sir. I took the liberty of drafting a statement for you. You can study it in the car on the way to the White House.”

“Thanks, Jaz. What would I do without you?”

“Part of the job, sir. Now, let’s tuck in your shirt, button your collar, straighten your tie. There, that’s better.”

“Jaz, you know he still calls me you-know-what.”

“I know, Mr. Secretary, but never with the cameras rolling, and never in range of a hot mic—so far.”

“But why, Jaz? Why?”

“I think it was that remark during the 2016 campaign when you said he has small hands, and what that implies.”

“I apologized, Jaz! Profusely!”

“It’s the ‘toothpaste syndrome,’ sir. Once it’s out of the tube—"

“And last week he played a tape—in a cabinet meeting—of my rebuttal to the State of the Union back in 2013.”

“The one where you got dry mouth and were reaching down for the water bottle while maintaining eye contact with the camera?”

“Yeah, that one. I wanted to slap him with a MAGA cap.”

“There, there, sir. We must keep our heads when others around us are losing theirs.”

“This is no time to quote Kipling, Jaz.”

“Not a quote, sir. It’s a paraphrase. Okay, I think we are ready. Grab your folio, the car is waiting, and we are on our way. And please, sir, remember to smile.”

“Oh, all right, Jaz. But if he calls me ‘Little Marco’ one more time, I’m going to plotz.”

“Plotz, Mr. Secretary? I’m not familiar with the term.”

“Let’s go, Jaz. I’ll explain it to you in the car.”

The two men exit, and once again, peace settles over the historic office.

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