The Kitchen Cabinet
Posted: Sat Aug 08, 2020 12:14 am
Nursing a cup of coffee, Greg Forbes sighed as he looked over the stack of papers before him. He hated these “informal” meetings. These little catch-ups, where nothing was formally minuted or decided but all the actual decisions were taken, infuriated him. Decades in the job, and he still disdained what they represented and what they said about declining norms of propriety and decency, still was as clueless as ever about how he was meant to handle the ethics or etiquette of them.
Greg had been trying, in large part at Grady’s insistence, to punt SOTF responsibility away from his committee. What he couldn’t shake were the responsibilities that came from being on the GOP Policy Committee, so here he was, meeting with the informal House Republican response team. There was a public response team, one with a bit more gender diversity and a freshman with a Portuguese surname to pretend like they had ethnic diversity, but this was the Speaker’s brain trust. Where the decisions would get made. Greg didn’t want to be on it, but the way he saw it, it was the best way to make sure that he didn’t have to deal with it any longer than necessary.
Dirk Kernell was already there. Because of course he was. The meeting space was Dirk’s office. The moment the Speaker had found out the acoustics in Dirk’s office were perfect for small conference meetings, Dirk hadn’t had a moment of solitude since. He accepted it, though. Dirk was a good footsoldier. Greg liked Dirk. He just sat there, quietly, looking over his own notes, sharing Greg’s philosophy of using meetings he didn’t want to attend as a chance to get to emails and reports that he otherwise wouldn’t have time to get to.
Their silence was broken soon enough. “Little piggies, little piggies, let me come in.” Greg flared his nostrils in frustration before looking up at the new arrival, head popping out from behind the door.
Michael Bromley. Urgh.
“I won’t hurt the hairs on your chinny chin chins.” Michael was saying it all with an obnoxious accent. As to what accent, Greg didn’t know. Generic foreign. He entered the room, making himself at home by dumping his bag and his coat in the corner of the room, scraping a seat along the floor until it was in the centre of the room.
“You have that CRS report, Greggles?” Michael continued, now speaking in his normal accent, which was even more grating to Greg’s ears. Some dumb valleyspeak abomination. Greg threw a quick glance at Dirk - hoping against hope that a sympathetic look of understanding would be permeating through his stoic expression - before reaching into his bag and pulling out a printed copy of the CRS’s latest report on policy responses to SOTF. Michael snatched it and quickly flicked through the pages. What would be achieved by flicking through the pages, Greg had no idea. It wasn’t like there were pictures or pretty illustrations or anything.
“Surprised you got my email,” Michael chuckled. “Or did you have your staff transcribe it for you on papyrus or parchment or...stone tablets. Heh.” Michael did this annoying thing where a normal sentence would sound like a question and a question would sound like a sentence. He also did this annoying thing where every time he saw Greg, he made a joke about the latter’s disdain for emails.
Greg was an old-fashioned guy, at the end of the day. Up until...2016, he’d managed to run a “no-unnecessary emails” policy at work. Even that was a step back from his initial attempt to have a “no-emails” policy. It’d fallen apart. So many of Greg’s people had left when Canon came in, and he was left with the detritus, the intellectual flotsam of the conservative movement. But Michael? Michael was the intellectual jetsam of the movement, brought back only because he liked to pretend he wasn’t old-fashioned. He surfed and played guitar and talked about shit like bitcoin and SpaceX and so on, but he was older than Greg.
“Ha. Ha,” came Greg’s response, and he looked down at his stack of papers. More detailed, more comprehensive, than just some dumb publicly available CRS report.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to say, Greg, but I think you guys really need to do hearings into California preparedness,” Michael continued, and Greg felt his forehead fall onto his palm as a headache came on.
“I guess we should all make sure we’re familiar with where we are now with SOTF policy before we get into details,” Dirk interjected. Maybe Greg was reading too much into it, but he liked to imagine that interruption was intended in part to spare Greg from further interactions with Dirk.
“You got it, Dirk,” Michael said. His tone was annoying. Like that simple statement was a quip. Like every syllable was laden with wit and irony.
Saul Enright arrived next. The heavyset Pennsylvanian gave everyone the customary handshakes, did all the routine small talk, business charm that Greg had become numb to. He couldn’t remember what Saul said. Couldn’t remember what vague pleasantries Greg had uttered in return. Just couldn’t shake how his fingers felt like greasy overly tenderised sausages, feeling larger and heavier than they actually looked.
Greg didn’t like Saul, so he blocked out all of Saul’s comments about how his daughter was getting into obnoxious poetry or how hilarious it was that one of his interns was getting into wacky conspiracy theories. Greg had made the mistake of listening to Saul’s ramblings once, and came away knowing way too much about how the view from his son’s therapist’s office had been ruined by a shipwreck.
Now, Saul was a good guy. Honest, decent, a man of faith who loved his country and valued every life. Was important to keep that in mind in his dealings with him. He just...wasn’t politician material. He was the sort of guy who got his news from TV sets left on in gas stations and convenience stores, who got angry about the woke brigade wanting to spite hardworking and decent folks, wanted to be left to run his business in peace, who had just enough wealth and political acumen to win a congressional primary in a safe seat that he ran for largely on a whim. Not that Greg could say any of that out loud, no. ‘Not being a politician’ was inexplicably something people wanted from politicians. It wasn’t becoming for him to criticise that.
What he would admit was to a modicum of professional jealousy. Saul was a freshman, yet his committee assignments and staff hires had been far superior to what Greg had been able to garner back when he’d entered office. Greg was a serious politician, but the party had struck him off as an accidental incumbent, one who’d lose his seat in the next difficult midterm and allow a more favoured and less socially charged activist to run for his seat the election after. That was back in the eighties. Greg normally didn’t feel much resentment over that - let bygones be bygones and all that - but he couldn’t resist that involuntary and nauseating pang of envy when he saw someone like Saul given all the accoutrements of safe seat incumbency right out of the gate.
“So, what’s on the agenda?” Saul asked, dropping his body into the seat. It was rare that his voice adopted the cadence of a question. Rare enough that Greg actually looked up.
Michael jumped at the opportunity to talk. “Yeah, I think we can get started. So, what I’m thinking is we encourage schools to-”
“We’re still waiting for Josh,” Dirk cut him off.
“What’s the point of an informal meeting if everyone needs to be in the room before we begin?” Saul grumbled, addressing Dirk rather than Michael. “We all know what this is about, we all know why we’re here, why bother-”
And Michael took Saul’s grumbling as another excuse to ramble. “Exactly, I think it’s good to have a sort of free-flowing exchange of ideas, take a spin on the ideas carousel, so I’d like to focus on both the school districts and the unique needs we have in high-priority targets like Orange County-”
“Oh yes, because Buttfuck, Arizona was high up on a priority list,” Saul snapped.
“Well, Washington DC so clearly was,” Michael sarcastically quipped, looking at Dirk and Greg as if expecting them to join in his eyerolling.
“Oh, so you’re worried they’re just gonna yoink kids away from Disney World?” Saul shot back.
“Disneyland, actually, Disney World is not my problem,” Michael continued. “I also have had some ideas sent to my office from some good conservative think tanks-”
“We all got those emails.”
“Me and my team have been through them methodically-”
“Oh, did you look at the contents page?”
It sounded like five men were talking at once, but in the end it was just Saul and Michael. That was Greg’s favourite thing about Saul. He hated Michael. Why, Greg did not know. But the moment Michael started talking, trying to pretend he was some policy whiz, Saul just sat there all red faced and shouty. Saul was useless at policy, but he didn’t pretend otherwise. He seemed to have no patience with those that did.
Greg had been trying, in large part at Grady’s insistence, to punt SOTF responsibility away from his committee. What he couldn’t shake were the responsibilities that came from being on the GOP Policy Committee, so here he was, meeting with the informal House Republican response team. There was a public response team, one with a bit more gender diversity and a freshman with a Portuguese surname to pretend like they had ethnic diversity, but this was the Speaker’s brain trust. Where the decisions would get made. Greg didn’t want to be on it, but the way he saw it, it was the best way to make sure that he didn’t have to deal with it any longer than necessary.
Dirk Kernell was already there. Because of course he was. The meeting space was Dirk’s office. The moment the Speaker had found out the acoustics in Dirk’s office were perfect for small conference meetings, Dirk hadn’t had a moment of solitude since. He accepted it, though. Dirk was a good footsoldier. Greg liked Dirk. He just sat there, quietly, looking over his own notes, sharing Greg’s philosophy of using meetings he didn’t want to attend as a chance to get to emails and reports that he otherwise wouldn’t have time to get to.
Their silence was broken soon enough. “Little piggies, little piggies, let me come in.” Greg flared his nostrils in frustration before looking up at the new arrival, head popping out from behind the door.
Michael Bromley. Urgh.
“I won’t hurt the hairs on your chinny chin chins.” Michael was saying it all with an obnoxious accent. As to what accent, Greg didn’t know. Generic foreign. He entered the room, making himself at home by dumping his bag and his coat in the corner of the room, scraping a seat along the floor until it was in the centre of the room.
“You have that CRS report, Greggles?” Michael continued, now speaking in his normal accent, which was even more grating to Greg’s ears. Some dumb valleyspeak abomination. Greg threw a quick glance at Dirk - hoping against hope that a sympathetic look of understanding would be permeating through his stoic expression - before reaching into his bag and pulling out a printed copy of the CRS’s latest report on policy responses to SOTF. Michael snatched it and quickly flicked through the pages. What would be achieved by flicking through the pages, Greg had no idea. It wasn’t like there were pictures or pretty illustrations or anything.
“Surprised you got my email,” Michael chuckled. “Or did you have your staff transcribe it for you on papyrus or parchment or...stone tablets. Heh.” Michael did this annoying thing where a normal sentence would sound like a question and a question would sound like a sentence. He also did this annoying thing where every time he saw Greg, he made a joke about the latter’s disdain for emails.
Greg was an old-fashioned guy, at the end of the day. Up until...2016, he’d managed to run a “no-unnecessary emails” policy at work. Even that was a step back from his initial attempt to have a “no-emails” policy. It’d fallen apart. So many of Greg’s people had left when Canon came in, and he was left with the detritus, the intellectual flotsam of the conservative movement. But Michael? Michael was the intellectual jetsam of the movement, brought back only because he liked to pretend he wasn’t old-fashioned. He surfed and played guitar and talked about shit like bitcoin and SpaceX and so on, but he was older than Greg.
“Ha. Ha,” came Greg’s response, and he looked down at his stack of papers. More detailed, more comprehensive, than just some dumb publicly available CRS report.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to say, Greg, but I think you guys really need to do hearings into California preparedness,” Michael continued, and Greg felt his forehead fall onto his palm as a headache came on.
“I guess we should all make sure we’re familiar with where we are now with SOTF policy before we get into details,” Dirk interjected. Maybe Greg was reading too much into it, but he liked to imagine that interruption was intended in part to spare Greg from further interactions with Dirk.
“You got it, Dirk,” Michael said. His tone was annoying. Like that simple statement was a quip. Like every syllable was laden with wit and irony.
Saul Enright arrived next. The heavyset Pennsylvanian gave everyone the customary handshakes, did all the routine small talk, business charm that Greg had become numb to. He couldn’t remember what Saul said. Couldn’t remember what vague pleasantries Greg had uttered in return. Just couldn’t shake how his fingers felt like greasy overly tenderised sausages, feeling larger and heavier than they actually looked.
Greg didn’t like Saul, so he blocked out all of Saul’s comments about how his daughter was getting into obnoxious poetry or how hilarious it was that one of his interns was getting into wacky conspiracy theories. Greg had made the mistake of listening to Saul’s ramblings once, and came away knowing way too much about how the view from his son’s therapist’s office had been ruined by a shipwreck.
Now, Saul was a good guy. Honest, decent, a man of faith who loved his country and valued every life. Was important to keep that in mind in his dealings with him. He just...wasn’t politician material. He was the sort of guy who got his news from TV sets left on in gas stations and convenience stores, who got angry about the woke brigade wanting to spite hardworking and decent folks, wanted to be left to run his business in peace, who had just enough wealth and political acumen to win a congressional primary in a safe seat that he ran for largely on a whim. Not that Greg could say any of that out loud, no. ‘Not being a politician’ was inexplicably something people wanted from politicians. It wasn’t becoming for him to criticise that.
What he would admit was to a modicum of professional jealousy. Saul was a freshman, yet his committee assignments and staff hires had been far superior to what Greg had been able to garner back when he’d entered office. Greg was a serious politician, but the party had struck him off as an accidental incumbent, one who’d lose his seat in the next difficult midterm and allow a more favoured and less socially charged activist to run for his seat the election after. That was back in the eighties. Greg normally didn’t feel much resentment over that - let bygones be bygones and all that - but he couldn’t resist that involuntary and nauseating pang of envy when he saw someone like Saul given all the accoutrements of safe seat incumbency right out of the gate.
“So, what’s on the agenda?” Saul asked, dropping his body into the seat. It was rare that his voice adopted the cadence of a question. Rare enough that Greg actually looked up.
Michael jumped at the opportunity to talk. “Yeah, I think we can get started. So, what I’m thinking is we encourage schools to-”
“We’re still waiting for Josh,” Dirk cut him off.
“What’s the point of an informal meeting if everyone needs to be in the room before we begin?” Saul grumbled, addressing Dirk rather than Michael. “We all know what this is about, we all know why we’re here, why bother-”
And Michael took Saul’s grumbling as another excuse to ramble. “Exactly, I think it’s good to have a sort of free-flowing exchange of ideas, take a spin on the ideas carousel, so I’d like to focus on both the school districts and the unique needs we have in high-priority targets like Orange County-”
“Oh yes, because Buttfuck, Arizona was high up on a priority list,” Saul snapped.
“Well, Washington DC so clearly was,” Michael sarcastically quipped, looking at Dirk and Greg as if expecting them to join in his eyerolling.
“Oh, so you’re worried they’re just gonna yoink kids away from Disney World?” Saul shot back.
“Disneyland, actually, Disney World is not my problem,” Michael continued. “I also have had some ideas sent to my office from some good conservative think tanks-”
“We all got those emails.”
“Me and my team have been through them methodically-”
“Oh, did you look at the contents page?”
It sounded like five men were talking at once, but in the end it was just Saul and Michael. That was Greg’s favourite thing about Saul. He hated Michael. Why, Greg did not know. But the moment Michael started talking, trying to pretend he was some policy whiz, Saul just sat there all red faced and shouty. Saul was useless at policy, but he didn’t pretend otherwise. He seemed to have no patience with those that did.