09-20-00

The column the Echo refused to print: "Hello Mr. President"

HEADLINE----Haffey meets the President! (eh, sort of) � (Editors note: Linda Haffey is prone to hallucinations and sometimes she outright lies. Please know that we are attempting to get her the help she needs. If you have any disparaging remarks to make about this column, please email Linda. We no longer take responsibility for her actions.) Since it's been a full six months since our new president took the reins here at EMU, I thought it time to mosey over and welcome him personally to our fine university. "Hey Sam, how's it going?" I say, rooting around in his refrigerator looking for a beer. "What the (expletive edited)! Who are you and what are you doing in my house?!" "Simmer down, Sam," I say. "Su casa es mi casa, since my tuition dollars are paying for this fine house." I find a Coors Light and sit down in the spacious living room. "Nice digs. Where's the remote? I think Michigan is playing." "Okay, I know this must be some kind of prank. One that, I must say, I do not find funny." He rips the remote out of my hand and makes a grab for the cold, frosty beer in the other. I lick the rim of the can and hold it out to him. He rethinks his greediness and waves off my offer. "I can see you have no intention of leaving, so you might as well tell me who you are and what you want." He sinks into an overstuffed chair, carefully sliding the remote between the cushions. I guess I'm going to miss that Michigan game. "Excuse me for my rudeness. I'm Linda Haffey and I'm a columnist for the Eastern Echo." His eyes go blank. "You know, the student newspaper." "Of course. The student newspaper," he sits up straighter in his chair, arranging himself in a presidential pose as he looks around for the hidden photographer. (There isn't one. This is a solo mission.) "I met some of your compatriots during the presidential search interview process. I have to say, I was not impressed." "Nor were we. But that's neither here nor there. You're here and not somewhere else, and so we all have to get along." I take a sip of beer and notice he's still looking for the photographer---or maybe an assassin. I lean forward and he flinches. "Relax, Sam. I'm a nice person. I only break into really important people's houses, and I always clean up after myself when I go." "Would you mind, then, using a coaster for that beer? That table is teak, imported from somewhere very far away." He motions toward some really weird looking stone disks on a stand. I thought it was art. "Certainly. My mother taught me manners." (A small burp accompanied the last word, which made it sound like I said banners. Which would be silly-mothers don't teach banners. I think he probably figured out what I meant.) "Really, though, I have to say you've handled yourself well since you got here. I fully expected some sort of uprising after you were hired. That Regent Incarnati guy never listens to the university community and the radical left (or was it the right?) was ready to go on strike to protest when he hired you. Oh, that happened, didn't it?" "The strike had nothing to do with me." He looked at his watch. Was I boring him? "Of course," I say, standing up and assuming my best oratorical pose, "the strike was about inadequate wages, personal property rights for professors who design and teach classes online, replacement of full-time professors with lecturers...should I go on?" "I'm aware of what the issues were. Haven't you heard? We settled." Again, looking at his watch. I sat down. That beer was hitting me pretty hard, probably due to the fact I hadn't eaten breakfast yet. "Yes, clap clap. Fine job it was too." I took another swig and noticed how nicely the room swayed when I moved my head back and forth. "I want you to write in your little article that I am directly responsible for getting the strike settled quickly, I personally stayed up past 10 o'clock several nights that week to bring our professors back to the classrooms, and that whole Internet thing...that was my idea too." He looked pleased with himself. I made motions like I was writing in an invisible reporter's notebook with my finger, stopping to flip a page and write a little more after he had finally ceased and desisted. "Got it all, sir. You can count on me, sir. I'm happy to serve the Republic, sir." He didn't notice my act. His eyes went dreamy and he continued under his breath. "Anything to get that Arrington guy to shut up. I heard he was after my job, had to take away the soapbox, crush the dissenters!" He came back to himself with a start. "You're not going to print that, are you?" "Of course not, sir. Let's continue. Mind if I grab another beer?" I rush off to the kitchen and decide to make myself a little sandwich while I'm there. "Hey Sam, want some green eggs and ham?" I giggle. I couldn't resist; Dr. Seuss is a favorite of my kids. He stands in the doorway, his face turning a very un-Eagle-like shade of blue. (Might be his choice of residential locales.) I pat the barstool next to me at the counter. He sighs and takes the seat. "Really Sam, I want to tell you something and I'm not just trying to brown-nose you here." He looks at me with tired eyes, I think he stayed up late too many nights last week. "I was prepared to really dislike you. But here I am, sitting in your kitchen having a beer with you..." "Uninvited." "Well, yes. But the fact is, we're bonding here. This could become a friendship that generations will remember." "Except that by the definition of the law you have committed a felony, breaking and entering, and are taking very creative liberties with my persona. This smells like a lawsuit." The smile that suddenly transforms his face reminds me of another Seuss character...this one green who steals Christmas from a bunch of ya-Whos. "Okay, okay. I get it." I take a quick bite from my sandwich, crumbs fall onto my shirt and over the expensive Italian marble countertop. "I'll be going, but I'll be back. There's that whole Shelton issue to discuss. Keeping a former president on the faculty can be a dangerous thing. I hear he might be planning a bloody coup for sometime next month." "I'll handle it." "And we only just touched on the subject of your choice of cities to live in..." "Water under the bridge." "Well. I guess I'll say goodbye." I shuffle toward the door, stop, and go back. "Mind if I...?" pointing at the half-finished beer. "Take it. It's obvious you're over 21. How long is it going to take you to finish your degree and get the hell out of, I mean, graduate from Eastern?" "Almost done sir. This is my last semester." He breathed a sigh of relief, or maybe regret. I couldn't tell which, since he had his head cradled in his hands. � You can contact Linda Haffey at [email protected], if the president hasn't canceled her email privileges or taken away her scholarship �