A Striving D.C. Playbooker

Are there too many people CC’d on all of your emails?

Do you stay late at work, waiting for a 50 year-old to approve a Facebook post?

Are you more important than the $35K you earn a year?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, then you are likely a stagnant Hill-staffer.

It’s not your fault your career has been dead-ended. Every idiot in the administration and on the campaign will get a job before you do. Their profile pictures are with Tim Kaine, or Biden, or that Nasty Woman, or even Barack himself. Meanwhile your profile picture is just you, sitting behind your boss on C-SPAN. During a markup. Of a Republican bill that wants the government to assert that science is biased.

Every day, you repeat the mantras because, as we all know, “it’s a tough time for Dems.” So, keep in mind that “every office is different,” keep your head up, and “just keep doin’ what you’re doin’.”

You listen to Pod Save the World. Just like Tommy Vietor, you use a meal service app to make samosas, and just like Ben Rhodes, your parents have enough money to allow you to “work for free” on a campaign after your MFA at NYU. And, had John Kerry’s Comms Director asked you to write an op-ed when you were an intern, you would have crushed it and dated Rashida Jones. Because like these guys, you’re white, right, and humble.

But why haven’t you made it?

Sure, your E-Dear Colleague had a typo in it, and though it did not reach many people, everyone it did reach happened to end up in the same conversation, sipping Stella Artois at the American Truckers Association reception in the Rayburn foyer, where your typo was the butt of every joke uttered between glances around the room to see if anyone more important or desperately fuckable walked in. But those people are your friends, right?

You play softball with them. You know their dogs’ names. You all went to brunch together at Piola just last weekend. They will be there for you when you need it most, when you are in the drudges and need a job.

Because hey, you placed your boss on MSNBC at 3:15 in the afternoon. A producer emailed you, you emailed your chief, CC’d your scheduler and your congresswoman’s physical trainer, and then sent Daniel Lippman a message asking him just how early do you have to wake up every morning!? as you waited for your boss to say, “TV? Of course.”

You are a strategist.

All 17 viewers leaped right out of their Birkenstocks in awe of your boss’ ability to stay on topic by repeating your talking points, regardless of question or context, written in size 24 font on sleek cardstock.

Maybe you shouldn’t have made a Facebook status revealing those were your talking points, but that post was not intended for District Swamp Dwellers to judge you; it was to stay in touch with your friends and family back home—your constituents. Because you’re not forming a PAC yet (you would do small contributions anyways), but you’re also not denying the possibility that one day, you might seek that higher calling and run for office.

Anyways, your selfie with Elaine Chao got 116 likes, so your social media presence is pretty air tight.

Yeah you slipped up and BCC’d some of your colleagues’ job openings, asking if they knew anybody in that office, going with a “spray all” campaign as opposed to the copy-pasting and name-substituting that conveys being personal. And yes, this social faux-pas was the butt of even more personal digs at Stanton & Greene after the American Truckers Association reception in the Rayburn foyer.

But you’re a fucking politico.

You strong-armed that reporter from Talking Points Memo who wanted a quote on public-private partnerships in your district. You emailed your chief, CC’d your LD and your boss’ best childhood friend, never heard back, decided that concept was too complex for your boss, then did not email that reporter back.

So why can’t you get another job? Is it because people care more than you do? Should you offer to get a title bump but take a 50 percent pay cut? Or should you do your own social media campaign, showcasing how many friendships you’ve ruined and how little sleep you get because you CARE SO MUCH.

I don’t know. Maybe I will marry my college girlfriend, or buy a house on H street, or like, lobby.

I go to Café Milano, I just want to be spotted.