Sometimes, when bored, I like to play a little game. I call it What If. Basically, it’s a thought experiment. What would you do in various situations?
This time, after reading the recent Op-Ed about the chaos in the White House, I thought, “Oooh, Trump’s head is going to explode! I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that!”
But would I, really? What would I do if I were invited to the White House during this insane administration? It would be like entering the heart of Mordor to visit Sauron. I’m not sure I’d have the intestinal fortitude for that.
I’ve been in the presence of evil a time or two, and it has shaken me to the very core of my being. Something about looking into the eye of someone who is completely devoid of a moral compass leaves me feeling like anything could happen, and I know I wouldn’t like it.
The tension in that building must be palpable. The morale must be at rock bottom, and the paranoia must be as thick as chocolate pudding. I’d probably get an instant migraine, just like I do when I attend a wedding for a couple that I know won’t last. It’s how my body reacts to the fact that things are about to get real and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
In almost any other time in history, I’d have considered being allowed to visit the White House to be an exceptional honor, even if I hadn’t voted for its resident-in-chief. (I did take a tour of it once, and even that was exciting.) It would be a distinct privilege to be able to voice my opinion to a sitting president.
But who am I kidding? This one wouldn’t listen. It would make me sick being in the same room with him. I’d actually be afraid to be alone with him. And I wouldn’t want to lend legitimacy to this farce with my humble presence.
So I’d probably decline the invitation and say I was doing so out of protest. But it would be more out of self-preservation on a spiritual level. It doesn’t pay to speak the name of evil, let alone shake its hand.