Gandhi's Guide to Getting By

chapter fifteen

Justin Jaspers isn't happy with the third draft of my speech. "You can do better, Emma," he says. He thinks I haven't put "heart" into the speech. "Remember," he says, "it has to sound like Council Member Young cares about affordable housing which, BTW, she does. FYI."

BTW? FYI? I hate it when people replace words with letters. I especially hate it when Justin does it. He pronounces each letter carefully. I imagine the letters capitalized as they visually pop out at me. This is a very busy man, they seem to scream, who doesn't have time to say the full word.

UYA, I almost retort. Not that Justin would know what it stood for and not that I think it officially stands for anything other than the unladylike thought in my head. He rifles through the papers on his desk, muttering "Where is it? Where is it?" I stand patiently on the other side of his desk. Melinda, one of the volunteers, walks by and gives me a sympathetic look. "Heart," Justin repeats. His right hand triumphantly waves my speech in the air. "Soul," he says handing the speech back to me. "Get it? Heart and soul." He's taken off his navy blue blazer. He's the only guy around here who wears a suit to work. Then again, he's the only guy around here who is paid. His tie is slightly skewered and his usually pressed shirt is wrinkled. While I would normally find this "dishevelled" look sexy on a guy, I can't help but wonder whether someone didn't grab him by the tie and try to choke him, but maybe I'm projecting.

"Sit here," he says, leading me to an empty desk, "and re-work it."

"So basically you want me to say--"

"Emma, please, just figure it out." He points a finger to his watch. His finger taps his watch. "I have to go."

"I'm just trying to figure out how you want me to say, SCLOAHIDBSLOBSW,BTW.SS," I say. "Oh, btw, that was the super-abbreviated version because I can see you're a very busy man."

Justin releases a long loud sigh as he pulls a chair over to the other side of "my" desk. He straddles the chair so his front is facing the chair's backside. Again, this could be sexy if it were anyone other than Justin. "Super abbreviated version of what?" he says in his I, the busy, unappreciated man, am trying to be patient voice.

"Are you sure you have time to hear each word in its entirety?"

"Will you just get to the point."

"So called lover of affordable housing is devastated by strict limit of building sizes which, by the way, she supported."

"What are you talking about?" Justin looks at me, his dark eyes narrowed.

"I'm talking about Council Member Young, the woman who supposedly likes affordable housing, voting in favor of limiting size buildings which, in effect, ensures affordable housing doesn't happen."

Our future President is having a hard moment. Or maybe it's a hard day he's having. It's not enough he has to supervise the various volunteers who walk in and out, the various vagrants who pretend they're volunteers so they can get a free coffee, the e-mails which are never answered to his "satisfaction" or his "specifications", he now has the paid staffers like me who don't understand politics is about packaging. "How did you find out she voted against affordable housing?"

"Google."

"You're kidding?"

"N," I say.

"What?"

"N. Stands for no."

He nods, a small smile on his thin lips. "I like that," he says, "Mind if I use it?"

I tell him to "rwi." "Run with it,"

"About the speech," he says. "Be inventive."

I raise an eyebrow and give him a skeptical look. "Inventive as in giving Council Member Young some sort of reflex disorder, the kind where she raises her hand involuntarily?"