Mario Milosevic

Like many Americans, I knew about the most recent amendments to the constitution, the ones that set the president’s term to fifteen minutes and opened the election to all residents, the votes cast and tallied by computers so as to least impact the electorate, but I was as surprised as anyone when the Warhol Amendments (as they came to be known) resulted in my being elected to the top spot in the executive branch late last year. I’m told that all former presidents are expected to produce a memoir of their time in office, and though I have resisted imposing my story on the nation, perhaps it is time to set the record straight and secure my place in history.

I was elected on a Thursday, and told to report to Washington DC on the following Tuesday. My term in office was to run from 3:15 to 3:30 am. A pity, as this meant there would be little opportunity for my wife, the first lady elect, to entertain foreign dignitaries or even to see the White House in daylight with the sun’s rays streaming into the rooms laden with history. When I told her of my good fortune and of my heavy sobering burden, she declined accompanying me on my trip, citing her need for a good night’s sleep.

Of course I understood, and fully supported her in her decision and realized that mine would be a progressive presidential marriage in which the first lady was not an appendage to her husband. I only hoped the nation was ready, but this was the early mid twenty-first century, after all, time to join the modern world.

Air Force One is a magnificent plane, equipped with more luxury and amenities than most expensive houses and I only wish that everyone could have a chance to ride in it because that would mean I would get to spend some time in it as well. Unfortunately, president elects don’t have that privilege. I had to arrange for my own transportation, a sacrifice, but one that I was willing to make. After all, the nation was putting their trust in me, the least I could do was run up my credit card bill to allow me to fulfill my duty.

I arrived at Dulles airport and a nice man stood at the gate with my name on a piece of cardboard. I wondered if the throngs of people rushing past me were aware of how important their fellow passenger really was. But I had to push away such thoughts. I had to concentrate on the work at hand. Ego massaging could come later.

I determined to learn the man’s name and something of his life, as I had heard that presidents gain respect by just such efforts, but I was put in the back seat of a limo, by myself, with the nice man driving me through the streets of DC. I tried to operate the intercom, but it proved beyond my understanding. No matter. Presidents are rarely adept at such technological devices. That’s why they have large staffs, thereby freeing them up to do the hard work of making decisions that would affect the lives of millions. I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I only hoped I was prepared for the task that history had given to me.

When I arrived at the White House the vice president was waiting for me. She shook my hand and introduced herself. It felt odd to know this person was soon to be a heart beat away from the most powerful office in the world, my heart beat. Her chance at advancing depended on my dying during my fifteen minutes. Such thoughts do nothing to quell the nerves, I can tell you, and I confess my voice quavered as I introduced myself.

We stood outside the oval office, surrounded by dozing reporters and sharp as tacks secret service officers. I thanked them silently for being willing to put their lives at risk for me. I peeked through the door into the president’s lair and saw the outgoing president was five years old and asleep in her mother’s arms. This was a pity, as it meant I would have to take up the slack of her lax administration.

At approximately thirteen minutes past three her mother stood up and began getting ready to leave. As she and the ex-president brushed past me, I scarcely had time to acknowledge them, let alone ask their advice on how to endure the tumultuous minutes of a presidential administration.

Then I was ushered into the oval office and took my seat at the presidential desk. A teddy bear was on the floor at my feet. I wanted to retrieve it, and return it to the former president. I was sure she would want it as a memento of her time in office, but there was no chance to do so. My staff made sure I went right to work.

“Mr. President,” they said, “we have a stack of bills you need to sign. Shall we get to it?”

“Shouldn’t I take an oath of office?” I asked. I was truly embarrassed by their response, which was that I took the oath when I received my notice of having won the election. It was a streamlining item, put into the Warhol Amendments at the last minute, despite the strenuous protests of traditionalists, but that was no excuse for me to forget how the constitution of my country worked. I decided right then and there that I would do my homework from now on and never be caught like that again. I apologized to my staff for my stupidity and I believe they gained respect for me at that moment.

Then I set to work signing bills. Three minutes into it I had settled into a routine and my administration was open, I knew, to charges of complacency. I set down my pen and rubbed my forehead. The burdens of leadership were heavy on my soul. I was already feeling tired. I asked for a snack from the White House kitchen. Within a minute a plate of cookies and a glass of milk arrived at my desk. I took a bite and a sip and felt invigorated. I picked up my pen and forged on.

A few seconds later the phone rang and everyone in the room froze. A phone call in the middle of the night is never good news. All eyes were on me. I hesitated for only an instant, knowing that I had to inspire confidence in those around me if I was to be a successful president. I picked up the phone. “This is the president,” I said.

I would like to report that the phone call brought news of a delicate diplomatic situation that I decisively solved but candor compels me to reveal that it was a wrong number. The White House receptionist had inadvertently transferred a call to my office that was meant for someone else. We all sighed in relief and smiled, some even laughed. I remember it as the warmest moment of my administration, the time I felt closest to those around me, but I did not let it affect my judgment. I still knew that I was alone at the top, it was still me and me alone who had to make the tough decisions.

As it happens the balance of my term in office was relatively uneventful. I signed some important bills, I was told. I can’t really confirm this, because I did not have time to read any of them, but what I remember most about my administration was how privileged I felt to be serving the American people. My greatest regret was that I did not have an opportunity to address the nation and thank them for their confidence in me. Hence this memoir. I’ve left out some of the more embarrassing and delicate events. I suppose you’ll have to await the unauthorized accounts for that, but I am pleased by what I accomplished and today spend my retirement in seclusion, refusing all interviews out of a sense of dignity and respect for the office I held proudly and humbly for a full quarter of an hour.

I flatter myself that my wife never tires of hearing my stories of those grand seconds, and I do entertain the hope of one day being first gentleman.