Somebody Stole Donald’s Playbook

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The other day I was in a store. An employee I know was trying to be nice and she attempted to stuff a few extra things into my bag, which contained an item I had actually paid for.

“Come on, take these,” she said. “No one will know.”

I had to physically take the items out of her hand and put them back on the shelf as I kept repeating “no” emphatically. She gave me the annoyed “you’re a Girl Scout” look.

I don’t want a medal for this. It’s called not stealing.

I bring it up because I keep thinking about how I would feel if I found out someone was recording my every word and move and then threatening to share it with the world. If an Omarosa came forward and said she had tapes of me, what would go through my mind?

Well, if there were video tapes in my home, that would mean I might be caught naked or half-dressed. If there were audio recordings of my phone conversations, a friend or family member might find out he or she annoyed the crap out of me and I told someone else. Or I may have shown great vulnerability in a talk with a friend. So, sure, some embarrassing things might be revealed. And you’d definitely catch me jaywalking on occasion while expletives fly out of my mouth.

But criminal activity?

I’m combing through memories, years of them, and trying to come up with one thing that would scare me. Like potential prison scare me.

The IRS knows about every darned penny I’ve found on the sidewalk. I haven’t skimmed off a charity, set up a bank account on some obscure island, met with shady characters who want to sell me information, bilked anyone out of tuition, or tried to figure out ways to convince people I’m something I’m not. I’ve never needed a fixer.

Go figure.

So when I hear and read that people who work in the Trump administration are freaking out over what Omarosa may have on them, I have little empathy. Your behavior is catching up with you. Boohoo.

You took a job working for a man who has no moral center. You knew this. You did. You can pretend you thought working in the White House would be noble and grand, but once in there you saw quickly the level of corruption and the flouting of the rule of law and you chose to stay. You read the Tweets, flabbergasted, half laughing and half crying. Laughing because you’re sitting pretty; crying because of what your country is becoming right before your eyes.

Then you had conversations with co-workers like Omarosa where you decided to trust that the boss with no moral center who hired others with no moral center would be all-powerful and protect you no matter what you did. And so you flapped that mouth and talked about things you didn’t even know were illegal.  And with each passing month it became easier, but also scarier, so you hired a good attorney just in case.

And now you’re sweating. Because it’s not just the word of the conniving Omarosa against yours. She has proof. She covered her ass because she’s like 10 levels more sinister than you.

Now you’re drenched at night, thinking, “What did I say? What plan did I reveal? Can my lawyer get me out of this? Maybe we can make a deal. Will the President turn on me? Does everyone have recordings or was she the only one? Why did I get involved with this unscrupulous family?”

Why, indeed.

I see comments on social media questioning why the two-faced Omarosa is getting so much play and why news outlets are helping her sell her book. I agreed at first, seeing her as a disgruntled employee with a score to settle.

But no, no.

We’ve gone into much deeper territory here. This woman keeps declaring Trump has met his match. She’s not stopping. She knows what she has. She is acting exactly the way he would in this situation. Donald Trump is looking at himself in the mirror here and the reflection has him fuming. No, not because the image staring back is a black woman (gasp!).

It’s this. Only he is allowed to commandeer the news cycle. Only he is permitted to deflect, turn on a dime from loyal to back-stabbing, say outrageous things and get away with them. Only he can bully and threaten. Only he can retaliate in ugly ways when he feels wronged.

You tipped your hand, Donald. She didn’t just rip a page out of your playbook, she’s rewriting that shit.

I’m going to sit here and watch while not stealing or cheating or lying.

Just watching. And waiting.

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