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Civil conversation? If It Gobbles Like a Turkey...By Rick Horowitz
All I said was -- But we're getting ahead of ourselves. It was just your regular Sunday-after-Thanksgiving up at Camp David, and the regular gang was there -- 43 and Laura, Condi and Rummy and Tony and Hadley and a few of the others, just like always. The Veep was off playing kissy-face in Saudi Arabia or somewhere, and 43 was in and out, getting ready for Latvia. But the rest of us were hanging out in the big cabin, like we always do, just kicking back and watching more football. That's when I said it. It was halftime in the second game, I think, and the popcorn wasn't doing it for me, so I stood up and I headed for the kitchen and I said -- I still remember my exact words -- I said, "Anybody want any leftovers?"
Boy, did it get quiet in a hurry! It was like somebody hit the "Mute" button. But not just on the TVs -- on the whole room. "What did you say?" This was Rummy, and his eyes were like slits. Leftovers, I said. Did anybody want any leftovers? "Those aren't leftovers." They're not? "This is Camp David," Rummy said. "They don't have leftovers at Camp David." Now, this came as a total surprise to me, because I'd already been in the kitchen that morning looking for something to eat. (Those long walks really build up an appetite!) There were platters and containers everywhere -- I think they ship them up from the White House mess. White-meat turkey and dark-meat turkey. Three kinds of stuffing -- chestnut, and sausage, and that lemony one that Condi loves. Mashed potatoes with the lumps still in them, just the way 43 likes them. Plus all kinds of salads and greens, and pumpkin pies, and chocolate cakes, and -- Which I started to explain to Rummy. He doesn't get up there as often as some of us do, especially at Thanksgiving, so I figured maybe he didn't know about all the good eats waiting right down the hall. But I didn't get half the words out. "Those aren't leftovers." They're not? "They haven't met the criteria." And then he starts doing the explaining. How there are certain standards for when something's a leftover and when it's not. How calling something a leftover when it's only possibly threatening to become a leftover can make it really hard for people to stomach. How you have to be really careful about using a word like 'leftover,' because of all the negative connotations that people attach to it. So what should I call it? "We prefer 'mid-stage ingestibles,'" said Tony. Mid-stage what?!! "We're not denying" -- this was Condi, trying her best to stay calm -- "that many of these items have already made a prior appearance on a holiday dinner table, and that one or two of them have been picked pretty clean. But to call them 'leftovers'..." And she shuddered, like the whole idea was just too horrible to contemplate. Hadley rushed over to put a comforting arm around her, and then he turned and looked me square in the eye. "You can say that the turkey is entering 'a new phase.'" A new phase? "'A new and increasingly violent phase.'" And the stuffing and the mashed potatoes and all the desserts? "Also entering 'a new phase.' They're being 'challenged.'" But they're not leftovers. "Certainly not." Next year, I make other plans. Posted 11/28/06.
Rick helps you recognize the turkeys in your life! (You may want
to tell the neighbors.)
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Rick Horowitz
