Something's happening, but you don't know what it is...

Taken to the Cleaners

By Rick Horowitz

The final straw, they decided later, was when the Oval Office ottoman went missing. But that was later. At the time, it seemed like just another day.

It had been sitting there since the Truman Administration, the Oval Office ottoman, and then suddenly it wasn't there anymore. The president was vaguely aware that something in the room had changed. He liked to relax, this president did, liked to put his feet up at the end of a long day. This particular day, in fact, he had started to put his feet up, sensed that the room was somehow different, and put his feet back on the floor.

He didn't notice that the ottoman was gone.

The Secretary of Footstools didn't notice it either. He visited the Oval Office only occasionally, and one ottoman more or less -- even a valuable ottoman that had been there since the Truman Administration -- wasn't the sort of thing likely to capture his attention. Perhaps if he'd known about the credenza.

The Oval Office credenza had gone missing a month or so before the Oval Office ottoman vanished. One day it was there and the next day it wasn't. Instead, there was an empty space along the curving wall.

"Wasn't there something along that wall?" the president had wondered to himself. "A credenza or something?" But he was busy with other things, important things, and the moment passed. He certainly never mentioned it to the Secretary of Footstools. Why would he? A credenza was a credenza.

And a wing chair was a wing chair. An Oval Office wing chair had gone missing a few months before the credenza disappeared. The president had been ushering some notable someone-or-other into his office for a bit of conversation when he realized that his pair of Oval Office wing chairs was now only half a pair. If he thought about it at all, he probably decided that the missing chair had been sent out for cleaning.

But he might not have thought about it at all. He was busy with other things, important things. Selling moving vans to the Chinese, for instance -- it was a great way to keep them on our side.

"Somebody has to tell the boss."

Down the hall, the president's National Furniture Adviser sat grim-faced. The reports -- first a trickle, now a torrent -- were impossible to ignore any longer. A wing chair. A credenza. An ottoman. And more. The White House was being dismantled right under their noses -- it had been going on for decades! The president had to be informed.

"That Oval Office ottoman was a one-of-a-kind item, wasn't it, Mr. President?"

"It sure was." "Well, there's an ottoman exactly like it over at the Chinese Embassy. They've also got a credenza that would fit perfectly against that wall, and a wing chair that's a dead ringer for this one. Among other things."

The president considered the news. It was the last thing in the world he ever expected to hear. He thought he understood the Chinese, understood the way their minds worked. He steepled his fingers, drummed his thumbs against his chin. Then he spoke.

"So the ottoman isn't one-of-a-kind?"

"That's one way to look at it, Mr. President. I'm afraid it's not the only way."

The president seemed bewildered. His relationship with China meant so much to him, it was inconceivable that they'd pull a stunt like this. Cracking down on human rights was one thing, but looting the White House? What was he supposed to think now?

He started to say something, something presidential, when his secretary appeared at the door.

"The repairmen are here for the couch," she said. "Also the desk. Also the rug."

He didn't remember asking for any repairs, but he'd been so busy with other things, important things. He waved the repairmen in (they looked almost familiar), and watched them empty his office. Then he turned back to his National Furniture Adviser.

"But we've put a stop to all that, right?"

Posted 5/25/99. You don't need any spies to get hold of Rick's stuff! Tell your friends!

Search the Web Search Rick's!