[I was fortunate to be selected to serve the beer at the recent White House Happy Hour during which President Obama, Professor Henry Louis Gates Jr., and Sgt. James Crowley sat down, face to face (the “Racial Facial”), to discuss the recent controversy surrounding Professor Gates’ arrest by Sgt. Crowley.]
“Doc, Sarge, I’m happy you were able to sit down and discuss this issue. As President, I don’t often get a chance to sit out back at the White House and soak up a few suds with members of the public. The Secret Service is a real pain in the ass and I can smoke out here.”
“Mr. President, my family and I would like to thank you for inviting us here today and very much appreciate your offer to let us sleep in the Lincoln bedroom. I’ll bet it’s been a while since a cop got to crash in the White House.”
“Huh?”
“While I also thank you for your invitation, Mr. President, I want to know why this whitey cop got the Lincoln bedroom and I’m stuck sleeping on the couch in your private office. Isn’t that where Bill and Monica ‘hung out’?”
“Huh?”
“Look, Professor, you’re right off the Oval Office. Right next to the President. That’s not bad. Especially since you got your ass kicked in Rock, Paper, Scissors. By the way, you don’t get to holler ‘KNIFE!’ and expect to win.”
“That wasn’t a fair contest. Everyone knows Knife beats Paper.”
“What the hell are you two talking about?”
“We played Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who got the Lincoln bedroom and the Professor said he had a knife. You can’t do that where I’m from. Southy, maybe. But not Cambridge.”
“Sheee-it, Professor, next time, shout ‘GUN!’ That’s how we do it in Chicago.”
“It’s bullshit, Mr. President. I’m a famous black scholar and Lincoln set me free. I should get to sleep in his bed.”
“Hell, Doc. I’m the President of the United States and I don’t even sleep there.”
“You’re half white.”
“True dat.”
“I’m all white, Professor, and tonight I’ll be snoozing where Ole Abe used to sleep. You, on the other hand, will be dodging DNA in the President’s study. How you like that?”
“I knew it! You’re a racist cop! I should have shot you when you broke into my house!”
“You had a gun?”
“Well, no. I had a knife. But that’s not the point.”
“Men, let’s settle down. I’ve asked the Vice-President to join us so it doesn’t look awkward to the media.”
“Awkward? What’s awkward about an elite Harvard scholar, a cop from Boston, and the President of the United States sitting down for a beer in the back yard at the White House?”
“Um. I was thinking so it wouldn’t look like two brothers and one white guy.”
“You’re only half black. Don’t need a Harvard degree to see it’s about even.”
“Word.”
“Ah. Here’s the beer. Sarge, I got you a Sam Adams. Professor, I ordered you a Colt 45. I got a Corona.”
“Corona?”
“Yeah. Close as we could come to appealing to the Hispanic vote.”
“Makes sense.”
“You can’t beat a good malt liquor. Hard to find in Harvard Yard.”
“Where the hell is the Veep?”
“I overheard that guy Rahm say he was making a speech.”
“Dayem. That never works out well.”
“No, but he hasn’t called my police department ‘stupid’…so far.”
“How would you like to play a little Rock, Paper, Scissors, Chicago style, Sarge?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Chicken.”
“What the sergeant meant, Holmes, was that you seem to have an unfair advantage with all this Secret Service hanging around.”
“Well, men. I’m glad we had a chance to address the important issues surrounding this unfortunate incident. Give me a call sometime and we can do this again.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
