Whereever you is, I'ma find you and I'ma kill you.
That's to the two heffas who pushed me out of the picture – you know you out there. See me? The Metropolitician? Oh? You don't? That's because there should be one more person standing on the far right – me. And see the two – ahem – ladies standing to the left of former president Clinton? Yeah. Them. The Ones Who Took My Place. Why am I angry? Let me tell you.
See, back in 1994–1996, I lived on Cheju Island, where I was a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant (ETA) and generally a happy camper. Now, were heard that gold ole' Billie was stopping in to visit on his way to Japan, and yes, when we saw the Secret Service agents traveling in pairs around the island doing advance scouting while trying to look "inconspicuous" – white and black dudes built like linebackers walking around in pairs with plastic earbuds and no tourist bags on an island that had less than 20-30 westerners at any one time just don't cut it – we knew it was real.
So we prepared signs, got time off of school, and even got Fulbright to pull some strings and get us press passes so we could get into the Shilla Hotel, where Bill and 03 (Young Sam) were gonna be briefly meeting.
So we were gleefully gleeful as we arrived that day – by the way, Korean Secret Service, I hope you're checking foreigners these days, since you let me walk right past all your checkpoints without checking for my press pass (I guess if you were a foreigner, they just assumed you were with the press at that time) – as we sat inside the hotel, yellow press passes hanging 'round our necks.
Still, there were a few downers.
The big one was the fact that we were basically rounded up and told not to leave the coffee shop area. "But we have press passes!" The Korean Secret Service still wouldn't let us leave, since we were obviously not actually press, despite having the same clearance any member of the press had gotten. But they were handling the bulk of the general security, while the US Secret Service was handling the stuff 'round The Prez.
The US Secret Service had also told us to not flash the signs we had brought, which declared something like "Welcome from Fellow Fulbrighters!" or something. Since I didn't particularly feel like getting shot for suddenly pulling out a huge yellow sign, I decided to nix the idea.
To add insult to (perceived) injury, there were other foreign types in the coffee shop holding area as well – some missionary types who worked in the SDA hagwon. "Heeeey? Aren't they supposed to be honest or something? What were they doing here without press passes?" I thought to myself. Well, the Korean security guys weren't really checking. And even with press passes, we were all in the same roundup. Bastards.
Anyway, one intrepid member of our group – Monica (I'll leave it up to you to decide if her having that fateful name had any role in this) – had disappeared off to try and make a run of it. We had discouraged her from doing so, but Monica was not one to be discouraged.
About five minutes later, as Ted (the last guy in the picture to the right) and I are grumbling about being stuck with the Lying Missionaries off in the corner, who do we see but our friend Monica and William Jefferson Clinton walking together, two-by-two and side-to-side, with her gesticulating and talking as if she were a head of state, Bill nodding and listening intently as they walked. The press corps was snapping like mad at this little piece of wild, unplanned news action. As Kartman would say, "Hollleee sheet, dude."
Ted and I looked at each other with the clearest expression of, "Negro, whaaaaaat?!" on our faces, then looked up again to see Monica pointing us out to Bill, who then gave a big wave, yelling "Come on over and get a picture!" Of course, when the "Leader of the Free World" and Mack Playa #1 tells you to "come over and get a picture," you GET THE FUCK UP, right? We weren't thinking.
All this time, the Korean security dude, who had had his back to all this business going on behind him and was just watching us and stuff in our general direction, just sees me and Ted get up in a start and rush in his direction and the direction of the Leader of the Free World.
Note for Life: Do not make sudden rushes toward security dudes guarding leaders of countries.
Luckily, he didn't pull a gun or club us, but he was very tense and terse as he put out both his hands and was like "Stop!" Coming back to our senses, we stopped, of course. That's when Ted dropped one of the two show-stopping lines he would lay down that day.
"Umm, like the President of the United States just told us to go over there," said Ted in a kind of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure sort of way, because that's how he talked back then.
Ah, that was satisfying. He looks behind him and indeed, POTUS and other security people were gesturing (and he got a nod) like, "Stand down, Korean security dude." Awesome.
But what was NOT AWESOME was the 2 out of the 3 Lying Missionaries to our right suddenly joined the party. What are you gonna do? I'm 23, speechless, and things are whirling around me. And even if I had had my wits about me enough to say, "Hey – you're not Fulbrights!" I would have just been the asshole. They weren't going to kick them out or anything, and I didn't particularly care – yet.
So we all did the line-handshake thing – yes, I shook hands with both Bill and 03 on the same day, so "who wants to touch me? I said, who wants to fuckin' touch me?!" – and found myself particularly speechless and swooning like a middle school girl backstage after an Nsync concert. I stupidly gave my camera to a Secret Service agent – who later told me he was sorry, but he was working and couldn't take a picture with my camera – but we still had Ted's, so no biggie, no biggie. Right? RIGHT?!
As we were sitting in the 1-hour picture place in the hotel, exchanging obligatory "Holy shit, dudes" and "That was soooo awesome", the pictures come out, and we were going to pick one and get several blowups. Then Ted dropped the other bomb I would never forget.
"Umm, Mike, there's a slight problem."
I rush over, heart, lungs, and liver sinking, to see that I had been perfectly, masterfully cut off, as if I hadn't even been there. No half-head, no shoulder, nada. Zip. 없음.
I won't even go into the gesticulations, curses, or thoughts of death to the Lying Missionaries Who Cost Me My Picture. The pain has lasted too long, and I have healed.
Yes, healed into an angry, burning, gnarled scar running down the visage of my very soul.
Buuuuut, my death threats to them are now mere jokey blog fodder. Yep. Umm hmm.
Just don't let me bump into you in a dark alley, ladies. 'Cause we got unfinished bidness.
And to anyone in the press corps out there, who has access to files and whatnot in your newspapers, if you can dig up a picture of me from your archives – there were like 10,000 photographers snapping away with cameras far more advanced than Ted's – I'd definitely buy you a dinner, wash your car, and walk your dog. Or wash your dog, eat your dinner, and walk away. Or something like that. Don't worry – I won't eat your dog.
April 16, 1996 – at least if Ted's camera was set right, which I'm pretty sure it was. Anyway, it was the day Bill and 03 met in the Shilla Hotel for his brief tour through Asia.
Help me heal this 10-year-old wound! Oh, the pain! Must...try to...move on...
