On Thin Ice

A Quick Review (and it’s only 1pm)

It’s been a hot minute since I have written about this crazy adventure, so let’s do a quick recap:

• First thing: the interview with Camelot
• Second thing: “Just don’t quit.”
• Third thing: the White House phone call
• Fourth thing: Marine One and the cake

1:01 pm

Honestly, what happened immediately after the whole cake debacle escapes me. In fact, about 2 ½ hours of time is completely unaccounted for in my memory. I can only assume that I have  blocked it out. And that I ate lunch.

Sometime after 3:30 pm

The focus shifted to the barbecue. Everything was set, except for some reason there was no ice at the house. I don’t remember why, but in hindsight, it strikes me as odd. I’m pretty sure it was some shenanigans pulled by the cook. Nonetheless, as Mrs. K left for a hair appointment, I went to the local Safeway to buy ice.

(Despite not remembering what I’d done the past few hours, I do remember being completely stressed out. I was over this day. My feet hurt. And I was ready to go home. Unfortunately my day wouldn’t end until after the last guest left the barbecue. Great.)

‘Thank You Mr. Kennedy’

Once at Safeway, I walk to the shortest checkout line thinking two things:

1. Get enough ice to start a glacier (though we were expecting “about 20” people)
2. Beat Mrs. K back to the house

“I need to buy 10 of the largest ice bags you have,” I said, once it was my turn.

He rings in 10 bags of ice. I hand him the credit card.

He swipes it, looks down at it and says, “thank you Mr. Kennedy.”

Dumbfounded, I look at the card. It was one of the household cards and it had his name on it. My mouth dropped open. I looked at the card, then back at him, then back at the card, then back at him, then at the receipt, then back at him, then signed the receipt with his name. And walked out to the ice machine dumbfounded at what just happened.

Still lost in thought about the checkout guy not knowing who Mr. K was and that I was not him, I didn’t realize I had been standing at the ice freezer with the door open.

The empty ice freezer.

There.

Was.

No.

Ice.

And that is the second time in my life I stomped away from something waving my arms and yelling inanities at no one in particular. (The first time was at the Washington, DC DMV—a story in and of itself.)

Another Phone Call

I collapsed into my car’s driver’s seat angry, frustrated and completely incredulous that one day could, so far, be filled with so much fail. On the verge of tears, I sat in my running car letting the frigid air of the air conditioning wash over me.

And I realized I had to do three things:

• Get another job
• Finish out this day
• Quit this job

I got out of my car and walked over to the pay phone. (There’s picture of one on the right for those of you who have never seen one. Mobile phones were still a luxury item.)

I picked up the receiver, shoved my quarter in and dialed the number that would hopefully bail me out of this disaster.

Voice mail. Of course. It was an unfamiliar number.

“You have reached Lynden…please leave your name and number and I will return your call.”

“Lynden [my voice cracking], it’s Brett. I know this is a long shot and I completely understand if this isn’t possible, but I need to—I mean want to—take the job you offered me. I can start immediately.”

At this point, I’m almost in tears because I have just admitted to myself that I wasn’t up to the challenge that lay before me, that I was walking away from a commitment and that I would have to say “I quit” to one of the most powerful people in Washington, DC.

“Also, Lynden, I don’t have a phone right now. It’s not hooked up yet, so I’m not sure how we’re going to connect. I’ll try calling you from a DC pay phone tomorrow. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

I hung up.

A wave of relief passed over me as I turned to walk back to my car. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I told myself. “You’ll quit tonight. You can do this. But right now, you need to find some ice. And fast.”

(Sidebar: I had just moved into my first apartment without a roommate the two days prior to starting at Hickory Hill. The cable and phone had not been installed yet, which is why I had no phone at home. Pro tip: don’t ever move then start a job the next day. Bad decision.)

On Thin Ice

Mrs. K. would be back to the house soon and she’d want her  Motown blaring. There was only one choice: the lost-in-time gas station just off the main road headed toward Hickory Hill. This tiny gas station and garage looked stuck in the late 1960’s from everything to the light fixtures to the gas pumps with manually-rotating digits to the old logo of (I think) Mobil.

It was a stretch. And it was my only hope. And they only had three small bags of ice.

I bought them, rushed back to the house just in time to answer a call from Mrs. K. We were reviewing things left to do before the barbecue and her phone cut out briefly. Instead of asking her to repeat herself, I just said “yes” to whatever she had asked.

After finishing the review, I hung up the phone feeling—for the first time that day—like everything was going to be okay.

Boy, was I wrong.