• "Next." Only two more people. Russell gave the store a bored look and looked it over for the hundredth time. Two sections of uncomfortable looking booths were seperated by a line of incredibly fake flowers. On one side, a single door hindered traffic into and out of the building during peak hours. On the other side, the usual counter lined with false advertisements of delicious donuts and other such pastries with a... a... Hello. Russell pushed his glasses further up on his nose and broke his impatient standing for what he hoped was something cooler. Now, Russell had never been blessed with dashing looks, whether he was ready to admit it or not. In truth, Russell had a slightly geeky air, which would have been fine, except he hadn't accepted it. Instead, he attempted a Television conceived notion of cool. Still, Russell wasn't entirely unsuccessful. However, this time, he would be, and for two reasons. A: Anita read him like a book as soon as she saw him. B: She had never dated an African American and C: Russell had forgotten about his earpiece.
    "Next," the lazy voice sounded. A large woman wearing what could only be a bed sheet pushed her way around Russell. "Next, sir," it called again. Russell stepped up to the counter and was immediately happy his new job required a suit. The small brunette faked a stunning smile and waited for his order. Her face could only be described as "movie star" pretty and the way her hair fought its way into her face despite a bouncy ponytail made her, if nothing else, out of his league.
    Russell put on what he thought was a cool smirk and stared directly into her donut shaped hat. "Give me a second," he asked a little too forcefully. After his minute was up, and with the help of a ridiculous dance, he pulled a crumbled up piece of paper out of his pocket. A shout filled Russell’s ear. "HURRY UP NOOBY!" Russell gave the woman a terrified look. "I'm sorry," he mumbled while handing the girl the list of orders. Without acknowledging the apology, she turned into the kitchen.
    In the five minutes it took Anita, a name Russell had learned when his gaze drifted down and found her name tag, the voice had returned. Once making donut related jeers, once insulting his mother, and once, which happened to be the time that convinced Russell to stop looking for the voice, singing in French. By the time Anita had come back with a box full of assorted goodies, Russell had found exact change in his pocket, which he used to pay her as quickly as possible, so he could dash from the store as soon as he had the donuts. A beautiful black car with black tinted windows pulled in front of him and the door slowly opened.
    "Took ya long enough nooby," an equally well dressed man scolded him amid laughter from the other three well dressed men in the car. Russell didn't answer, but instead, lifted his foot off the newly paved parking lot, and slid on the leather upholstery into place. Russell blushed, if that’s even possible, when he saw the donut-headed woman giggling through the windows. For the next couple of days, whenever Eric called him nooby, he would remember the embarrassment and wonder if she had been laughing at him.
    The pastel orange building with its dark asphalt frame passed by as the black car sped down the road. Russell adjusted his view back into the car just in time to see an impatient hand grab the donuts out of his lap and start distributing them. There were five men in the car, three, including him, in the back seat, the driver, and Eric in the passenger seat. Russell had still not figured out how to talk to other people's ear pieces and he wasn't about to ask any of the men in the car. The "hazing" portions of new jobs were where Russell generally got fired.
    After an hour of driving, and an hour of conversation that Russell was sure he was purposely left out on, since the topic of a good portion happened to have been his mom, they had arrived in DC. Russell stopped paying attention to the men. The big city. Well, a big city at least. Russell stopped seething and let his eyes dart from building to building, person to person, and hotdog stand to delicious hotdog. The DC was a paradise compared to Ainsley, in his opinion. He almost even missed his family... Well, Geo at least.
    Squeeeaak.
    “Hey!”
    The singing frenchman had noticed Russell’s head press against his window and snaked his arm onto the driver's windows control, now everyone in the car except Russell was laughing hysterically. Instead, Russell quit staring out the window and resumed bitterly staring at the back of Eric's seat. The laughing and the pouting continued until the car made a sharp turn and stopped.
    "Identification, please," an assertive voice came from the wall next to the driver's window.
    Before Russell could figure out what exactly "identification" was, the driver finished the arduous process known as security. A huge gate opened, leaving Russell staring at the white house. It was surprisingly intimidating, to say the least.
    "Whoa..."
    Eric laughed. "That’s right nooby." Russell immediately regained his "cool" composure, but forgot to sulk. This was it. If Russell failed this job... well it's safe to say the outcome would be terrible. Maybe... No, his dad wasn't that devious.... Wait, yes, yes he is. It finally clicked. His father had pulled so many strings; the weight of the world was firmly dangling around Russell’s neck. Bodyguard to the president! It made sense. Russell had never kept a job for over a week. Now he was in a job he couldn't lose.
    The men were reading his mind. "You're starting to sweat." Now Eric was looking at him. Laughing. Russell puffed up offensively. Eric stopped chuckling as they got closer to the steps. "Calm down nooby. We're in the nosebleeds. They barely trust us with tazers and flashlights."
    The doors started opening before they even got off the steps. It was all so beautiful. Cool. It was all so cool. He was almost in a daze when he stepped in. His, along with Eric, the Frenchman, and the "yo mamma" guy's feet seemed to be the last thing that would fit in. The elegance of the Grand Foyer was almost completely covered with people, most wearing identical suits to Russell’s. "Whoooaaa..." Russell mimicked the all business attitude of the people around him, giving a serious look in the direction everyone else was looking.
    "Good evening, gentleman."
    A powerful voice came from the center of the room. "I'll get straight to the point before we go over security. Mr. President has come down with a head cold." The man paused for a moment. "I assure you, he is fine, but his throat won't hold up through a speech. I am... filling in for him, so to speak." He stopped again and laughed. "How inappropriate. I forgot to introduce myself. Some of you know my name is Harold Stamos. I am the President's advisor." Stamos gave the men and women in the room time to take this in. Just long enough for Russell to get nervous again. Stamos continued. "We have not had time to tell the public and, no matter how much I love our president, I would prefer not to get shot. You all know your team. Alpha," he gestured to each as he spoke, closest to him being Alpha, furthest from him, Russell’s group, being Theta. "You all know where you are stationed.” This didn't help Russell’s flight risk. We do? "The president... err... I suppose, I will be speaking on a touchy subject tomorrow, so be on your toes. Please be on your toes?" Stamos finished jokingly. "Any questions?" He gave the men a moment to reply before, upon hearing no questions, dismissed everyone in his well spoken, formal speaking way. Harold Stamos was a born charmer, this was obvious.
    The Theta's returned to their car and headed towards the hotel, waiting on the next day. The trip was short. Russell even had a place in the conversation about the turn of events; although, it still felt to him like everyone knew something he didn't.
    They stayed in a Hilton, two to each room. Russell’s roommate, "yo mamma" guy, kept a constant stream of Paris Hilton related jokes for the better part of the night. Randy, as it turned out, was his roommate. The man lay back on the only bed, then quickly corrected himself when it threatened to swallow him in its fluffy embrace. Russell inwardly groaned. The bed already had an unspoken claim. His choices included snuggling the portly Randy or sleeping on a small couch tucked into the corner. He chose the couch, which set off a whole new string of jokes.
    "Ya never know till ya try... The bed is nice and comfy," Randy teased.
    Silence. Russell was sure he was being insulted somehow.
    "What do you think happened with the president? I'm guessing it was an assassination attempt." Randy's statement took Russell off guard.
    "It's a head cold," Russell replied quickly, glad to be the informed one in the conversation. Randy didn't ever reply. Russell eventually fell asleep.
    Knock...
    Knock...
    "HEY!"
    Knock...
    Russell moaned angrily and sat up. A flashing red light in beside the bed let them know it was 3 AM.
    "What?!"
    "Open the door?" This time the accent was unmistakable. "Frenchman, it’s 3 in the damn morning. What the hell do you want?" Randy yelled, staring at the ceiling.
    "I want you... to open the door," the French fellow singsonged.
    Randy let out an angry grunt and climbed back into bed.
    "Raaaaannnddyyyyyy... ooopeeen the doooor."
    Randy threw an extra pillow, followed by his discarded shoes and a waste paper basket at the annoyance before eventually turning away and saying, "nooby, open the door."
    Too late. They heard a squeal and a French yelp fade down the hall with three sets of feet. Russell, despite not wanting to give in to an order, reluctantly opened the door just in time to see a naked Frenchman chased away by three security guards. Randy's voice surprised him. "YOU HAVE YOUR MOTHER’S a**,” Randy called after him. Russell attempted to look like he didn't care by turning back to the couch. The night went by in silent slumber.