Dad’s D-8

I heard the car door slam and immediately looked at the clock.  The 5 Pies pizza restaurant I managed in Washington, D.C., had been closed for an hour and everyone on staff except me had gone home.  I had forgotten to lock the front door and a man who had emerged from a limosine at the curb strode into the restaurant.

It was the most famous man in town, Donald Trump.

“Mr President,” I said, getting to my feet though I wasn’t sure if that was required.

“That’s right.  I’m the President–Not lying Hillary the way everyone thought.”

“Where is your security detail?”

“I accidentally lost them. To distract the media, I sent Ivanka out the curbside door of my limousine while Steve Bannon and I went out the street side of the car; but the driver of the limo took off after Ivanka too, and my security detail followed the car.”

“Didn’t the media see you in the street?”

“Steve and I hid from the media in a phone booth across the street.  I didn’t even know there were phone booths left but there was a green one right on the curb.  It even had a toilet.”

“Mr. President, that sounds like a porta-potty.”

“That’s what Steve kept saying.  I called him a loser and told him to look for the phone.”

“Why would you need to call from a phone booth.  Don’t you have a cell phone?”

“Ivanka sold it on e-bay.”

“What about Bannon’s?”

“What about it?”

“Where was his phone; and where, for that matter, is he ?”

“He and I jumped into another  limousine that we had stashed around the corner.  Then Steve-arino called the secret service to tell them to meet us here.”

“But why did he drive off just now?”

“He saw a girl wearing a Hillary button and he chased after her to take the button away.  He should show up here any second and so should the secret service.”

“Why would they come here?”

“Do you remember how Melania stole  Michelle Obama’s speech at the convention?”  When I nodded, the President said, “That worked out so well I’m going to be doing a lot of things the Obamas did except I’ll deny he ever did them.  I’m starting by coming to 5 Pies the way Obama did when he was elected.”

“It wasn’t 5 Pies that he went to,” I said.

“Sure it was.   I read it in the New York Times.”

“Mr. President, Obama went to 5 Guys not 5 Pies.”

For a moment the President stared at me, his mouth hanging slightly open.  Then, he looked around the restaurant as if a pizza place was just an alternative fact.  Finally, he said, “I’ll have a pizza instead of a hamburger, but let’s order before Steve gets back from chasing after that teenager.  He always orders anchovies, and I can’t stand that loser topping.”

“I guess I could make you a pizza.  What would you like?”

“Surprise me.”

“How about a stuffed pizza–a crust on the bottom and on the top.”

“I’ve never heard of that.

“It’s an old idea, but maybe it’s time for it to come back.”

“You need a gimmick if you’re re-introducing a product.”

“What if we stress that the top crust is thick and floppy . . . like your hair?”

“Could you die it orange?”

“Maybe a little red with sauce.”

“Let’s do it. Let’s make pizza crust great again.”

At that moment Steve Bannon burst through the door holding a Hillary button in his hand which he raised into the air, triumphantly.  Then, as he and the President began to argue about pizza fillings, I headed for the kitchen to make the crust.

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