Presidential Soup - By Zack Mitchell Read online

Then he made some pasta with honey for sauce. He ate the pasta while the jello solidified in the cool serene atmosphere of the interior of the fridge. Gordo wondered what life was like from within the closed refrigerator. He thought about unplugging the fridge and taking out all the shelves so he could climb in and hide from Plain Lentil Goons. He also thought about those urban myths where kids get trapped in fridges. He then remembered how those stories were decades out-of-date and always had to do with the old-school refrigerators with those handles that clicked shut, and how they haven't even made fridges like that for decades because of the urban myths. Gordo was halfway through removing the shelves when he scrapped the insane idea and put them back in place.

  Suddenly a knock on the door.

  That was fast.

  Gordo looked through the peep-hole. There were two unknown Goons lurking on the other side. One of them wore a white lab-coat and held a clipboard. The other one was a civilian and carried a bucket. Gordo opened the door.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “We are from Plain Lentil Soup,” replied the scientist. “Did you call about finding a dead possum in a can of soup?”

  “It was a dead rat, but yes, that was me.”

  “A dead rat?” asked the scientist, consulting his clipboard.

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm, says on the clipboard that you found a dead possum.”

  “It was a rat. You couldn't fit a possum in a can of soup.”

  “I agree. Do you still have the rodent?”

  “Yeah, it's in a bag out on porch.”

  “Go and retrieve the rodent,” said the scientist to the civilian. Gordo noticed the bucket was filled with cleaning supplies.

  “Are you going to clean the kitchen floor?” asked Gordo.

  “Yes of course,” replied the scientist as he double-checked the itinerary. “The clipboard says we are to dispose of the rodent, to clean the kitchen floor, and to give you the envelope containing the details of your prize.”

  “My prize?” asked Gordo.

  "Everyone who finds an animal in their soup is awarded a random consolation prize.”

   “What did I get?”

   “It could be anything ranging from a check for a million dollars to a coupon for 38 cents off a head of rotten, two-week old, anthrax-infested romaine lettuce. I don't know the prize, and am not allowed to know. You must open the envelope after we leave. They say the heavier the envelope the better, but yours is paper-thin.”

  The scientist said no more. The cleaner finished up and they both proceeded to leave.

  Gordo immediately opened up the envelope. It was an expensive invitation.

  Congratulations!

  All plans are set in stone. Your inauguration ceremony

  will take place tomorrow night. We apologize if

  this is not enough time for you to invite any

  friends, family or loved ones.

  Your plane leaves tomorrow morning

  at 8 o'clock sharp. A car will be around to pick you up at 6.

  Once again, congratulations.

  Gordo was disappointed to learn there was no prize. He began to question everything.

  Are those people even from Plain Lentil Soup? Maybe someone at the supermarket used a felt pen to write a fake number on the can. But to what end?

  Gordo went into the kitchen to see if they had even cleaned up the floor. They had.

  Believing it to be a joke, he stayed up late watching movies and was not well rested when the car arrived at 6 am.

  The car was the usual black limo. It took several rings on Gordo's phone until he woke up and was told to look out the window. He couldn't believe a car had actually arrived. He quickly dressed and headed downstairs. The driver didn't get out and open the door, so Gordo opened it himself.

  “Step right in, Mr. McKenzie!” said a man dressed in a five thousand dollar suit. “I am Cody Futrell, your new publicity manager.”

  Gordo eyed the scene warily.

  “Please, join us!” shouted a random voice from within.

  “Where are we going?” asked Gordo. “The invitation said we're taking a plane. I don't like flying.”

  “That will be explained,” replied Cody. “We have a strict schedule and must talk while on the move. You understand.”

  “I don't understand any of this,” said Gordo as he got into the limo.

  The driver pulled away from the apartment building and headed towards the freeway. After a short drive they were at a private airport, ready to board a very famous plane.

  “Is that...?” asked Gordo as he stepped out of the limo.

  “Air Force One?” replied Cody. “Of course it is.”

  “Why are flying in Air Force One?” asked Gordo.

  “Isn't it obvious?”

  “Not to me, no.”

  “Please step aboard,” urged Cody. “All will be explained.”

  Gordo boarded Air Force One. It was very crowded with people, many of them brandishing press passes.

  “Forgive me for inviting the press,” said Cody as he motioned to the cameras, lights and microphones. “But I know the country wants to hear your comments as soon as possible.”

  “You said you're my new publicity manager. Why would I need a publicity manager?”

  "You need over 25 publicity managers, as well as hundreds of other on-hand assistants.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you're the new President of the United States, of course.”

  “Haha.”

  “Not a joke, Mr. President. As the invitation said, your inauguration will take place tonight. At the White House to be specific.”

  “To what purpose is this joke?” asked Gordo.

  “This is your prize, Mr. President. For the unfortunate experience of finding a dead rat in a can of Plain Lentil Soup. Everyone gets a randomly assigned consolation prize. Being President just happens to be yours. Rules are rules, and in that regard we are looking forward to seeing how our country evolves during your term in office.”

  “I'd like to get off the plane now,” said Gordo.

  “That is not allowed,” explained Cody. “Please sit down and buckle up. The plane will be lifting off any second now.”

  Gordo sat down and buckled up.

  “Take a look at the television,” said Cody. “We're having the news announced this very moment.”

  Cody clicked on a news channel. Gordo was immediately startled to see his own picture on the screen.

  “This is Gordon McKenzie,” said the anchor, “who has just been announced as the next President of the United States. His inauguration is set to take place today at the White House. Gordon McKenzie is only 36 years old, the youngest president ever. He is also the only President to have been elected without a single vote. It is also even believed Gordon was not born in the United States, but somewhere in Northwest Canada perhaps. These blatant flouting of the old rules suggests we are on a new path of re-writing the entire foundation of our political system. But first a little more information about Gordon. He is the middle child in a family of three. He has led a rootless existence since barely graduating high school, working a dizzying array of unfulfilled career attempts coupled with an extreme frequency to move around different cities while losing touch with once vital groups of friends.”

  Gordo was struck. This strange joke had gotten accurately personal and not so funny.

  “I know what you're thinking,” said Cody. “We had this filmed earlier and are just playing it off a disc.”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Here,” said Cody tossing him the remote. “Flip around. It's on every channel.”

  Cody was right. Every channel was discussing the new president.

  “This is very elaborate,” said Gordo. “Must have been expensive.”

  “All matters relating to the President are expensive,” replied Cody. “The president consumes enough wealth to sicken the average thinking-man. Hold on, I think we're about to go l
ive.”

  “Live?” asked Gordo.

  “Yep, everyone get your cameras ready.”

  The mute, motionless reporters kicked into action, propping up whatever lights they could make room for, flipping on tape recorders everywhere.

  “What am I going to say?” asked Gordo.

  “Don't ask so many questions,” said Cody. “You're the President now. You have to pretend to not be baffled. You must exude confidence. Pretend you're a charming movie star. Smile and distract them from the fact that you're grossly inadequate of being President. That's what the best ones do.”

  Everyone listened to the TV, waiting for their cue.

  “More about the early life of Gordon McKenzie later,” continued the anchor. “Now it is time for the first official interview with our new leader. We go live to Air Force One.”

  Suddenly Gordo was watching himself watching himself on television.

  “How does it feel to wake up one morning and find yourself the new President?” asked a female journalist sitting on the other side of the aisle. Cody nudged Gordo in the ribs when he didn't at first reply.

  “She just asked you a question on live television,” whispered Cody sternly. The whisper was comically heard on the air.

  “What did she say?” asked Gordo. “I wasn't listening.”

  Cody smacked his palm against his forehead.

  “I asked you what it feels like to wake up one morning and suddenly find yourself the President of the United States,” repeated the journalist.

  “Oh, right,” said Gordo. “Well...it feels like a joke to me.”

  “Ok, I think that's the end of the interview,” said Cody. “The President is delirious with jet-lag. Put the cameras down please.”

  The cameras were put away and the television turned off.

  “That was my fault,” said Cody. “I shouldn't have put you on TV before you were