on being a VIP

It started with a phone call.
A voice with a heavy foreign accent in English is saying:
“His Excellency the president of…”
I hang up immediately.
“It must be one of my mischievous friends, who is having fun at my expense,” I am thinking.
The phone is ringing again.
The same voice, the same message… “His Excellency.”
I hang up again.
For a week or two I am trying to find out which one of my friends is responsible for this not so funny call, but keep coming at a dead end.
Soon I completely forget about the incident.
Three weeks later a letter in a gold rimmed envelop arrives.
It is bearing a golden logo and a stately emblem.
It reads as follows :
“His Excellency the President of, requests the honor of…”

By now I know that it must be for real, for none of my many friends would go into such expenses just in order to have fun.

Reading the letter carefully I realize that I am being invited as an expert to a certain country, to help in the planning of their educational system.

Wow, do I feel important.
I put on the clothes of arrogance and haughtiness and set out on my new adventure.

I climb the plane.
The smell of importance engulfs me.
I am about to conquer the world.
I’ll show them all.

The hotel is great: Located in the midst of nowhere, wrapped in desert and nothingness.
But I am important.
The food is great. Very rich buffets.
After two days I can’t even look at a buffet.
I am eagerly waiting to go to work and to feel my importance in every limb and every blood vessel in my body.

Every morning I am being picked up by Mrs. M. a special assistant to the minister of education. She is a big, round, easy going woman whose plump body is squeezed into a suit too small for her measurements.
We go by a stately limousine to the “city” to meet the heads of the educational system in the country.
I also get to meet all the ministers and dine with the president.
By now I feel and look like an over- fed goose.
I keep going from one school to another driven by a chauffer and escorted by Mrs. M.
I am big news in the tiny country and being young, in my thirties, and vain, I am sure I am God's gift to humanity and especially to the host country.
I feel like a VIP and try my best act like one.

I make quite an appearance each time I go to work.
I walk on needle like heels, wear haut coteur suits and make sure I always wear the best make up.
It takes me about two hours every morning to get ready for the event
of day ahead of me: meetings and eating.

The days pass quickly, evenings and nights very slowly.
There is very little to do in my golden cage, except getting stuffed and fatter.
I miss home. I miss my children.
Being important makes up for evening boredom and lonely nights.

One morning Mrs. M. comes as usual to pick me up, in a limousine. But this time there is a new most welcome addition:
A fleet of motorcycles escorting us. Five in the front and five in the back.
I am delighted. An additional symbol of my greatness.
I can hardly wait to tell all my friends and especially my enemies in the academic world about my unprecedented achievement.
“Good for you, Edna!
Look at you, Edna from Haifa, look at where you are…”
Ah the sin of Hubris.
Little do I know what is in store for me.

I lean back on the back seat. Tilt back my head, and in a majestic move I turn to Mrs. M. and ask her:
How come everyday we go only by limousine and today we are having all these motorcycles escorting us ?

I am waiting to hear from her something in the spirit of : “this is in your honor . We are showing the people of this country how important you are etc…”
I am about to ask her whether I should roll down the car window and wave to the people on the streets in a VIP gesture, when Mrs. M. says the following.
“Well, yesterday there was an attempt on the life of the president, you know, a coup d’etat and now you as his guest might be next…”

Now I feel again like a goose only this time like the one to be cooked and eaten.