Another Exciting Day at the Treasury Department

From MSNBC: “Critics say part of the problem is that Geithner is flying solo: Not one of his top 17 deputies has been named, let alone confirmed. And without senior leadership, lower-level Treasury employees can't make decisions or represent the government in crucial conversations with banks and others.”

* * * *

*Ring, ring, ring*

“Tim Geithner, can you hold, please?”

*Ring, ring, ring*

“Tim Geithner, I’m going to have to put you hold for a minute.”

*Ring, ring, ring*

“Damn! Hello, Tim Geithner. Can you hold? I’m trying to fix the copy machine.”

*Knock, knock* “Hello. Capital Courier Service. I’ve got a document package for a Mr. …Gator?”

“Geithner. Yeah, thanks.”

“You have to sign for it.”

“What? Yeah, ok, ok. Crap! Do you have a pen?”

“Here you go, sir. Say, is something burning?”

“Damn it! My cocoa boiled over in the microwave. Here’s the signed receipt. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

*Ring, ring, ring*

“Hello, Tim Geithner. I’m going to have to…Oh! Good morning, Mr. President. What? Yes, sir, I know, I know; the hearing is tomorrow and you wanted a copy of my remarks yesterday, but the copy machine’s not working and I’ve been trying to fix it, and, with all due respect, sir, it’s not like I’ve got a lot of help around here. *Ring, ring, ring* Whoa! Gotta go, Mr. President. I’ve got the Turbo Tax Help Desk on line seven. I’ll call you right back.”

“Hi. Thanks for getting back to me. Listen, I’m trying to do my taxes and I’m a little confused (*w-h-r-r-r-r*). What’s this W-2 thing they’re talking about? (…-*r-r-R-R-R-R*). Can you hold a second, please? Hey! You out there with the vacuum cleaner! Can you shut that thing off? I’m on the phone. Thanks. Ok, I’m back (dial tone). Damn! I got cut off! *Cough, cough* Jeez, where’s that smoke coming from? Holy cow! The copy machine’s on fire! Help, help!” (Runs down the hall finding nothing but empty offices; grabs a fire extinguisher off the wall and returns to put out the fire in the copy machine; pushes the nozzle; *Phfft*). “What the hell’s the matter with this thing! Let’s see…’Expiry date: October/2002’…Shit! (Commences to beat out the flames with his suit jacket, the process being helped along by the activation of the automatic sprinkler system; stands dazed before the ruined machine, his face covered in smut, his suit jacket held loosely in his hand – smoldering – cocoa congealing on his Gucci loafers, water running down his neck).

*Knock, knock*. “Excuse me, I…oh, dear me! You’ve had quite a disaster in here, haven’t you? I’m sorry if I’ve come at a bad time, but I’m looking for Mr. Geithner. My name’s Roland Smythe-Pooter, assistant director of the Exchequer. I’ve just arrived from London and I thought I’d call on the Treasury Secretary prior to the G-20 meeting. I couldn’t find anybody downstairs, so I wandered around on the off-chance that I might run into him. Er…can you tell me where I might find Mr. Geithner?”

*Ring, ring, ring*…*w-h-r-r-r-R-R-R*…*drip, drip, drip*

(Turning his head, absently, toward his visitor, he looks at him with glazed eyes, slowly puts on what’s left of his jacket, grabs his scorched hippopotamus-leather brief case, throws his office key on the desk and heads out the door)

“Geithner, you say? Never heard of him.”