There are many things you expect to see when you enter a Perkins in Breezewood, Pennsylvania, looking for a late dinner.
What I didn’t expect to see was a stack of papers, wearing shoes and looking like he stepped out of a off-off-Broadway show of “Schoolhouse Rock”, sitting at the front counter and eating a meatloaf dinner.
I looked at him for a second too long.
“What're you lookin’ at?”
I tried to turn away, then heard…
“Yeah, it’s me. That replacement plan you’ve heard so much about...”
I looked around. The place was pretty empty; must have been talking to me.
He looked like he needed to talk, so I sat near him and ordered a turkey dinner and Coca-Cola for myself.
He said nothing, so I spoke up.
“Uh, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be...”
“Where? In a basement room being chased by Rand Paul? Hiding in filing cabinets to avoid Sarah Kliff? Being told that I’m a draft, that I’m preliminary, that I don’t exist...”
His voice was rising as he said that and I decided to keep quiet and let him vent.
“Yeah, I look pretty scrawny. Hell, compared to that ACA, I’m a 90-pound weakling. But it’s not my fault. Not at all.”
I raised an eyebrow. That was enough to get him going again.
“They want me to be so many things. Cover people. Be affordable. Not cost any money. Shove blame on Democrats when I fail. I can’t be all of them! Heck, I don’t think I can be any of them right now! It’s a wonder I don’t rip myself apart and end up with a split personality!”
I smiled. “Or a paper cut.”
He gave me a dirty look and shoved another bite of mashed potatoes in his mouth, then spoke again.
“Seven years! Seven years they’ve had to bulk me up, make me stronger, make me look at all good compared to that big, strong ACA. All of them—McConnell, Boehner, Ryan—they haven’t done sh...”
He had raised his voice too much. The server gave both of us a nasty look.
“Haven’t done squat?”
“They keep going around in circles—can’t do this because it costs too much, can’t do that because it’ll make voters angry, can’t do that without losing the Freedom Caucus.” He looked down at his near-empty plate. “It’s like they don’t want me to help.”
I felt a little sorry for him. Only a little.
“So, how’s hiding out in a diner in Breezewood going to help?”
“Oh, I’m not staying. There’s this guy in New York who says he’s got lots of money and he’ll make me big and strong, or at least look big and strong compared to that damned ACA.”
“How?”
“Marketing, he says. He also mentioned unregulated supplements and more freedom.”
“Uh, that sounds like it might not actually work.”
“It better! Have you seen how big that ACA is with women? No rate differentials, pregnancy coverage, birth control. I saw her once...”
“The ACA?”
“Yeah, a few years back. She said she would be so aca-popular—she said it that way too, like in that movie? I didn’t believe her; everyone around me said they hated her.”
He sighed and finished his last bite of meatloaf.
“Maybe I should have listened to other people.”
Then his phone rang. The song was “Evil Man” from the Roller Boogie soundtrack; I’d recognize it anywhere. He picked up, but before he did, I saw “R. Mercer” on the display.
“Yeah, Bob? Wait...now? Okay, you’re the boss.”
He hung up and stepped down from his seat.
“I gotta run. Bob wants me to be past Columbus by daybreak so Kasich doesn’t know I’m passing through.”
“Where you headed?”
“Wichita. Bob says he’s got two really powerful men ready to help me become as strong and popular as that stupid ACA. I’m not sure I believe them, but it’s not like I have a choice, right? Bye!”
He waved as he left; as he ran out the door the server came up to me, yelling “He didn’t pay!”
I asked for his bill and mine. Thirty-seven dollars and change; I left a fifty on the counter for her when I left, but first I said I’d look for him in the lot.
The moment I got outside I saw an old car barrel out of the lot heading for the westbound Turnpike. It had a TRUMP sticker on the back bumper, off kilter and stuck over another which appeared to have an exclamation point at the end.
I headed back in, knowing I’d never see him again, at least not up close. The server came back.
“Didn’t find him, huh?”
“Yeah.” I paused. “Did you listen to what he was saying?”
“Not hardly. I’d rather keep the plan I know than try something else.”
“No kidding.” I decided to stop talking and dug into my mashed potatoes, knowing that at least I was more loved than that poor sap on the run.
