I have. And because I have, I can assure you the experience raises more questions than it answers. For example, why aren’t there any side dishes? What would happen if I flush?
But those questions would come up anywhere. As I began the next phase of my inquiry, the search for suspects, a simple piece of fish took on far greater meaning. I knew it was an inside job—Ike’s was serving salmon that day—but beyond that I was stumped. The National Security Council offices were only three floors above me. Was someone there really so woefully incompetent? Or maybe it was the econ team. Had a person responsible for billions in federal grant money simply snapped? And let’s not forget the man in the bulletproof vest I had spotted just feet from the crime scene. Could a Secret Service agent have gone rogue?
This, I was learning, is the power of the White House: it sprinkles its significance onto anything nearby. A staircase becomes more than a staircase. A doorknob becomes more than a doorknob. A toilet-salmon becomes more than a toilet-salmon. It’s astonishing to behold.
TO APPRECIATE THE FULL EFFECT OF THIS WHITE HOUSE FAIRY DUST, all I had to do was invite friends to bowl. The Truman Alley sounds historic, elegant, and fancy. In reality, it’s a dump. With its stain-resistant carpeting and oversize industrial sink, the cramped outer room appears designed for autopsies. The only decorative touches—framed photos of presidents bowling—are easily available on Google Images. Also, there are only two lanes. For the vast majority of my White House tenure, one of them didn’t work.
Worst of all, the only way to reach Truman Alley is through the EEOB basement, a warren of exposed wires and flickering fluorescent lights I am fairly certain was the setting for a Saw movie. After every bowling excursion, I led visitors through the murdery labyrinth to the surface, then braced myself for their disappointment. My guests struggled to voice their emotions. The only thing worse than their silence was the outrage I was certain would follow. Finally, after composing themselves, they would look me in the eye.
“That was amazing! Thank you so, so much!”
Where I saw the world’s shabbiest rec center, they saw an exclusive pleasure paradise. That’s what the White House can do.
It was only a matter of time before a question, shameful but unavoidable, crossed my mind. How much of that fairy dust rubs off on me? And more specifically, what could it do for my dating life?
For those who already had game, a White House job made seduction almost painfully easy. There was the winter, for example, when a blond local newscaster caught the eye of a coworker. (I’ll call him Chase, because that’s what he enjoyed.) Out of nowhere the anchor began receiving invitations: to a holiday reception in the residence; to a sports team’s visit in the East Room. Each time she arrived, who should be seated beside her but Chase? He’d charm her for a few minutes, drop a couple of names, and then apologize for being so busy he couldn’t stay.
It was almost too easy. After sealing the deal, Chase bragged about his conquest, but anyone could tell he was just going through the motions. He sounded like a big-game hunter given permission to shoot elephants at the zoo.
On exactly one occasion, at a summertime cookout in a friend’s backyard, the White House worked a similar magic on me. I was in line for a beer refill when I bumped into Rachel, an activist type I knew from school. As usual, she didn’t pay me much attention. Then I mentioned my new job. Suddenly, she was transfixed.
“Do you have a business card? Can I see it?”
I reached for my wallet. As she ran her finger over the presidential seal, I saw her eyes mist over. Then they suddenly narrowed, as the image in her field of vision made contact with a fantasy in her head.
“It’s no big deal,” I said. “It’s only a card.”
Unfortunately, the magic didn’t last. After just two dates, and an equal number of lackluster make-out sessions, Rachel called it quits. I didn’t need to ask what happened. Blinded by my business card, she had leaned in to kiss Rob Lowe’s character from The West Wing and instead made contact with me. Even I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
And yet, as unsatisfying as this encounter was, it was the only time my job title improved my love life. Working at the White House made me no more seductive. If anything, meeting people was harder than ever, since I was constantly at work. A few months after receiving my first box of business cards, I threw in the towel and took the online dating plunge.
I once heard Chase refer to OkCupid as “practice.” But I approached composing a profile with the same intensity I devoted to writing Valerie’s remarks. What was the subtext of my favorite movies and TV shows? Were my “Six Things I Can’t Live Without” in the perfect order? Most important, how could I make myself appealing while disclosing as little personal information as possible? I know that sounds paranoid. It was paranoid. It was also smart. With just a year until the election, even the lowliest presidential staffers were targets for the conservative press.
It hadn’t always been this way. For most of American history your private life stayed private, even if you were commander in chief. Even after Bill Clinton’s escapades made headlines, it was understood that the young were off-limits until they reached trophy size.
But by late 2011, inspired by the success of Fox News, new right-wing outlets were exploding like spores from a fungus. It wasn’t just Breitbart and Glenn Beck TV. The Washington Free Beacon combed through Facebook pages of young Democrats, searching for embarrassing pics. Something called Project Veritas acted as a far-right candid camera, baiting progressives into saying something stupid, then releasing the heavily edited results. It was open season on everybody.
Determined to stay out of the crosshairs, I left my dating profile aggressively vague. This was particularly difficult on OkCupid, which relies on hundreds of questions to surface a match.
What’s your relationship with marijuana?
Pass.
Which is worse, book burning or flag burning?
No. Absolutely not.
How willing are you to try new things sexually?
Far more willing than I am to answer this question, that’s for sure.
I was a blank slate, and it was hardly surprising when my online matches and I failed to hit it off in person. Then, to my surprise, I came across a profile nearly as vague as mine. It belonged to someone I’ll call Nora. When I sent her a message, she explained that she, too, had joined OkCupid to avoid meeting people at work. We made a date for the following week, at an underground bar on Connecticut Avenue. As usual in Washington, we started by comparing careers.
NORA: I’m in communications.
ME: That’s so funny, I’m also in communications! In the private sector or government?
NORA: In the administration. How about you?
ME: Small world! I’m in the administration, too! Which agency?
NORA: Well, actually, I work at the White House.
ME: Wait, what?