alexa play despacito
The live stream had started and all I could think was I wish I had chosen a better chair. I’m not particularly gifted in public speaking nor any subject matter related to politics. Yet, here I am sitting behind the desk in the president’s oval office looking on at the only iPhone camera propped up by a tripod. The only thing keeping me company are the comments flooding my computer screen telling me that people are actually deciding to watch this dumb idea of a campaign ad. It’s surprising that the government trusts me enough not to have some kind of secretary in the room, even though I can see their shadows reaching out from underneath the door. I count the cameras about the room. 1, the camera on my computer. 2, the iPhone camera. 3, the paperweight on the far corner of the desk. I spin my chair around facing the windows that look out onto the green lawn. 4, the end of the curtain rod. 5, 6, 7- I would surely lose count if I continued.
I don’t know why, but whenever I imagined being in the President's office, it definitely wasn’t this quiet. I see why some government officials go insane. If you had nothing but the constant stream of your own thoughts to listen to, I might go insane as well.
I toss a leg onto the desk and then the other, one of my shoes landing atop a tea-colored paper. Grabbing the laptop, the charger unplugs and drags across the floor beside the wheels of my chair. I place it on my lap, watching as the comments continue to rise up and disappear past the view of the screen.
I smile with the thought of an idea. I turn my gaze towards the camera, a smirk spreading across my face. Surely, the president has one.
“Alexa play Despacito.” Silence followed my first words on live. But within seconds I heard the ever so non-robotic robot voice echo through the chamber.
”Playing Despacito by Daddy Yankee and Luis Fonsi.”
36 hours. I had 35 hours and 53 minutes to do whatever I pleased with this government. I’m not particularly gifted in the art of public speaking nor am I knowledgable in anything at all related to politics. Which is why I decided to ask the my 132 million viewers what I should do first.
In the beginning it was controversial laws like Gun Control and Right to Life but as those laws were fixed with a few swift signatures and strike-throughs, the requests slowly became less government related. Which was a relief on my part.
I felt I had done it all. I had only 5 hours and I felt as if I had done it all. Per requests, I’d danced without pants, I’d read an entire chapter of what was considered the most boring book ever written. I had even been asked to tattoo a meme onto my stomach, I agreed as long as I could choose the meme. I’d learned to juggle, crotchet, and even learned a few card tricks. I’d watched the first five episodes of The Office, the first three episodes of Naruto, and even Titanic. I recreated scenes from Jurassic Park, Star Wars, and Matrix.
I’d sung karaoke for an hour an a half and now all I could do was play Despacito on repeat. I was tired and my blatter was in pain. Thank god for diapers.
I wasn’t allowed to sleep, I’d found that out when they splashed me with a bucket of ice water when I started snoring halfway through The Notebook.
3 minutes. I felt I had done all that could have been asked of me. Everything was in pain. My arms from the constant tatooing, my back from being shot with a paintball gun, my legs from doing a wall sit throughout the entirety of Fifty Shades of Gray, my shins from attempting to break baseball bats, my hands from making a life-size ceramic recreation of Donald Trump’s face, and the list went on.
30 seconds. People still were watching. Were they satisfied? Their requests still came in a lightning speed.
10 seconds. I was never particulary gifted in the art of public speaking nor knowledgable in anything related to the government.
6 seconds. Yet I can still say that for 36 hours of my life I was the President of the United States.