Dear Secret Service,
Wow. Just Wow.
You guys have always been the strong, silent types in the background. Which, I always kind of gathered, was your job description. Wear dark suit and darker sunglasses. Blend into the background and be alert. Above, all, protect the leader of the free world, giving your life to save his if it came to that.
I’m fairly certain buying Colombian hookers wasn’t in there at all.
Usually, the only time you guys make the news is when the code names you call the first family come out. You know, First Lady Barbara Bush was “Steel Battleship” and President Clinton was, “Sir, you have lipstick on your mouth.” But you guys have made a splash and in a big way, with the hookers and the presidents itinerary in the room with the hookers.
Couple of things:
First up: even if the local government is cool with it, chances are THIS government, the United States government, the one that signs your paycheck, they’re probably not cool with prostitution. Hence the reason why it’s pretty much illegal here. And I don’t care if everybody’s doing it anyway. Sometimes your bosses can get away with stuff that you can’t. It’s like that time I was working at a Mexican restaurant for the summer and the boss would openly down a couple of bottles of wine during his dinner shift Saturday nights. I didn’t think I could do the same as the hostess. And not just because I was under-aged. He was the manager, I was the underling. If I wanted to drink on the job, I was going to have to do it one tequila shot at a time back behind the chips station. That’s how these things work. It’s nearly the same thing, except you’re tasked with the security of the president and I was the lynchpin in making sure everybody found a seat.
Secondly: when you’re on a business trip, even when you’re not on the clock, you’re still kind of on the clock. Act accordingly. You can’ t act like you’re at your Buddy’s Vegas bachelor party after 5pm. If somebody is paying your hotel bill, they own your free time, too. That means a quiet dinner with a glass of wine with your co-workers. Not a Bacchanal in the clubs of South America. Because guess what? You have work to do in the morning. And it’s pretty important work, too. It’s not like you’re dicking around writing a travel blog for a college semester abroad. You’re securing the President of the United States, for Christ’s sake. It’s a big deal. And you should treat it as such.
I know this advice is kind of pointless now, seeing as you’re all on your way to the unemployment line (remember: that’s also a government-signed paycheck, so no hookers this time, either). But I hope that maybe you can read this letter and learn something from it that will help you grow in the fine service-industry careers I’m sure you have in front of you.
Good luck. It’s hard out there for a pimp – but you probably know that already.
Hugs and Kisses,
PS – One more thing: don’t cheat the hookers. That’s just bad form. A girl just gave up her body and her dignity, the least you could do is not stiff her on the bill.