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,
Lindsay
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.