“What!?” Archie shrilled, “Are you two doing here!?”
When Peter and I were trusted with The Congressman’s social calendar, there were two stipulations: not to crash any event The Congressman was likely to attend, and not let Archie find out. But how were we to know that Archie was a huge Conan O’Brien fan?
He was super pissed. Especially since this was an event for press secretaries. The gatekeepers didn’t want to admit him since his “replacements” were already inside. Archie went off into whirling dervish tizzy fit, throwing his ID badge around, and making a scene. They let him in.
Archie magically forgot all about our treachery when he saw the celebrity ginger. We were soon three deep in line to meet the late-night-talk-show host and his fire crotch bouffant.
This was a far step up from Willard Scott and the 1(01) Dalmatian. In fact, meeting Triumph the Insult Comic Dog and/or The Masturbating Bear would have also qualified as an improvement.
“Hey!” the comedian shouted to a photographer. “Take a picture of me with these guys and this cutie.” I was the cutie! I was the cutie!
Conan wouldn’t go on to meet his wife until almost two years later. I really missed the gravy train here. Especially if it is true about the height of a man and…
Conan started his speech joking how he sympathizes with press secretaries because they are always the last to know when their bosses get into trouble, yet the first who have to talk to reporters about it. Pandering to your audience is a good idea. But you, my clever readers, already know that.
Over the next several weeks Archie had me track the photographer down and get him a copy of the picture.
Maybe long after Archie’s gone, someone will find Peter and me folded under Archie and Conan in a frame. While I’d like to think they’d say, “Who’s the cutie?” it’s more likely they’ll ask “Grandpa knew Monica Lewinsky?”