A WINNER AMONG LOSERS
Who ratted on me? Who among you readers (selected for your intelligence and discretion) gave the Trump family my email address? How did you know I once favored a Republican over a Democrat for president, and why’d you’d have to blab that fact to the Trumps? Yes, I did, and I’m sorry, but that was 1940, when I was in second grade and favored Wendell Willkie over FDR; at the time I had a good reason! Wait a minute…none of you were alive in 1940…okay, you’re absolved. There’s a leak somewhere and I’ve got to find it. Fix it.
What am I talking about? Well, the ten-day, 40-some email bombardment from the Trump family. It began on June 23 with an invitation from the President himself to join the Official Trump VIP Club. Perks included being “the FIRST to receive campaign strategy surveys,” and “get early access to new Trump merchandise.” Not only that: “key campaign surrogates like Lara Trump, Eric Trump, Don, Jr., and Vice President Pence” would send me “important campaign emails.” Lastly, I would “cement” my name in history as one of the “key leaders in the 2020 election.”
The President put a bit of muscle behind the invite:
I really need to know that I can count on you, Larry. My team is handing me the updated membership roster TOMORROW, and I’ll be looking for your name.
Wow! Me, a VIP, recognized as such by somebody other than myself! I felt honored. But I also felt a wee bit pressured…rushed.
The following day at 7:19 a.m. Team Trump 2020 emailed me and sweetened the deal:
Larry, is everything OK? President Trump asked if you were available to meet him at an upcoming event, but we hadn’t heard from you yet. You’ve always been one of our best supporters, and NOT entering just isn’t like you. The President is going to call us again soon.
Well, truth is I hadn’t been one of those “best supporters.” And about that meeting—where is it? I’m not very mobile and can’t go far. But I’d be up for it if it’s close-by. Any way I can serve my country. But what would I wear? I’m a guy who lives in sweats and slippers. And my suit has a guacamole stain on the lapel.
Less than two hours later another email came, from the Trump Campaign this time:
Larry,
Is everything OK?
Well, I wish the pandemic would go away so the baseball season could start—and so the deaths would stop. But it’s nice that you ask.
President Trump asked us if you were available to meet him at an upcoming event but we told him we haven’t heard from you yet. You’ve always been one of our BEST supporters, and NOT entering isn’t just like you.
Huh, I don’t remember supporting him…age sure messes with your memory.
The President is going to call us again for an update. Can we confirm your RSVP when he calls?
This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so don’t wait any longer.
Please contribute ANY AMOUNT TODAY to win a chance to meet your favorite president and take a picture together.
Remember, if you win:
• We’ll cover your flight
• We’ll cover your hotel
• We’ll cover your meal
• You’ll get to bring a guest
Anyone? Even Sleepy Joe?
• And you’ll get to take a photo with the President
As I read further, it turned out I’d been selected to meet President Trump only if I “won” the contest. Won? Yes, all I had to do to become eligible was contribute anywhere from $5 to $2800—the winner would get all those goodies described.
So many questions still were left unanswered: Would the meeting be in D.C.? Which airline? And should I even be flying with the risk of COVID? Not even the airlines seem too confident... Would I choose my hotel or is a room already reserved? Would I get only the one meal? Would Joe get his own room? How many winners would there be? And how would they be selected? Would it be a drawing? Would my $5.00 contribution give me an equal chance against those $2800 high rollers? Surely the Trumps wouldn’t tamper with the outcome, would they?
I wavered. I’d have to get a sitter for the dogs. And have the suit cleaned.
I decided to await further details. Instead, in the ensuing email blitz of six or eight a day I got only edgy barbs, including one from Eric on June 26 headed “You can do better,” and another from Donald, Jr. telling me to “pick up the pace.”
I dithered.
Then the hammer came down, wielded by the president himself; it was June 30, just four hours before the quarterly fundraising deadline ran out:
Larry,
I emailed you.
Yes, sir, you did, nearly thirty times.
The vice president mailed you.
He did. Spoke well of you, sir.
My sons, Don Jr. and Eric, both emailed you.
So many times I couldn’t count. They both kind of harassed me actually. Can you talk to them about it?
My campaign manager, Brad, emailed you.
Must have missed that one.
Lara emailed you.
Yes, but who’s Lara? Your Trump women come and go…I can’t keep up.
Newt Gingrich emailed you.
Didn’t read it. Does he now have a fourth wife and a fourth religion?
Sarah Huckabee Sanders emailed you.
Sorry Sister Sarah. Not converting.
Trump Finance emailed you.
Yep, they did. Quite a few times.
And now I’m emailing you. Again.
Each day, my team has given me a list of Patriots who have stepped up to help us reach our End-of-Quarter Goal, and each day, I’ve noticed YOUR NAME IS STILL MISSING.
Yikes! The President put “my name” in ALL CAPS AND BOLDFACE! It’s true—I didn’t give. I hadn’t had time to send in my $5.
I could tell him the cleaners lost my suit. That the check for five dollars was in the mail. Could I qualify as a patriot by virtue of serving four years, eight months and 14 days in the Air Force during the Korean War? What happens to me when he finds out that JFK was my favorite president, not him? That I once wrote on my blog that he was the dumbest featherless biped who ever dragged his knuckles across the surface of planet Earth?
He’s such a vengeful man. Would I be kneecapped? Both are titanium and I’m already arthritic…I couldn’t run for it. No way.
So I rewrote my will, and when the noisy Fourth rolled around I cowered under my bed with my high-strung Heidi, both of us fearing the worst.
It never came, thankfully. Instead I got an email the next morning from Donald Trump, Jr. inviting me to join his father at the 2020 Convention Celebration in Florida. No way. Instead, I unsubscribed from the whole Trump extended family, exiting this grinding loop, this carousel of the crazy.
Another lesson learned. I’m either a lot more important than I thought I was, or the Trump gang is both confused and desperate. I believe you can guess the correct answer…and keep it to yourself.