This is Not Normal

This is Not Normal

By John Curran

So, my girlfriends down at the Pole Dance Club bet me that I’d never do it. Well, that’s all it took. They should know me better than that. They sure never thought I’d get elected to Congress either, but here I am tonight to take on the fight, as best a little ‘ol ex-stripper can do. And, yeah, I was even warned about what they might do, if I actually carried out my plan. But c’mon,  they don’t really torture do they. No, fear will not be an issue and the opportunity is just too perfect to let it slip away. See, I’m new to this place and they don’t know me yet.  They just figure I’m gonna just do my small part as a so called “placeholder.” I’m s’posed to just stand here and act as a balance to the makeup of the receiving line for ‘Big D’, meaning, I’m young, female, white, of course, and over there, on their side, is old, male, white-as-white-is an we like balance it.  That’s the idea, anyway. D won’t be shaking my hand, actually, I wouldn’t let him, but he’ll  be busy with everybody else’s so…the timing is perfect.

The sign is small and innocuous, but the printing is large enough and quite clear.

And….the door is opening and here they come. If you’ve ever done the running of the bulls in Pamplona, well this is like that a bit; only it’s a lot slower and there’s only one bull and he doesn’t have horns, but somehow the smell of it is the same. A smell of excitement mixed with a tension like something could surely happen at any moment, and must not. A heavy sort of testosterone-like overlay as if the damn guns could be drawn any second.  A heavy vibe. Meanwhile, Big D’s coming down the aisle all shit-faced ‘n grinning, shaking them hands like crazy; and let me tell you this next little step was the easiest stunt that I have ever pulled, certainly of this damn magnitude.

The cameras followed Donald and me. No one got it, for the longest time. I just followed along behind him like I was s’posed to be there. I am so close I coulda’ touched him ‘n he’s not seeing me at all. Finally, this little old bald-headed white guy catches on and yanks my sign and it goes up in the air in pieces. And later it was obvious all the media was trying to ignore it, like it never happened, but it did. All my girl friends down at the Pole Dance Club  assured me, “You killed it, girl. It was the funniest thing ever, and you can have your old job back here too, anytime, ’cause we’s just so proud of you, Tiger.”

Editor: This is a fantasy based on some facts.