So, in my last post I bragged about my lunch plans. Well, the sad truth is that they didn’t exactly get off of the ground flawlessly. My photographer Aditi and I headed off to the prestigious Franklin Club on a mission: get a $75 lunch courtesy of the National Council For Public Private Partnerships. Posed as two journalists who want to write about the NCPPP for the Campus Progress web magazine, Aditi and I, armed with a letter from our editor, strolled into the jackets mandatory Franklin Club dreaming of shrimp, lobster, crostini, and something with vegetables (Aditi doesn’t do meat). However, before we get into the thick of what transpired upon our entrance to the Franklin Club at 1300 I (Eye) St, let’s back-up.

When I was scouring the internet yesterday for free events and conferences to crash, I came upon an advertisement for the Transportation Institute meeting and Luncheon featuring guest speaker James Ray Acting Administrator for the Federal Highway Administration. Completely ignorant of what this was or who the NCPPP were, I clicked on it because the location had the word club and if I know anything, I know that “club” in D.C. means fancy and pretentions. Then, I checked out the RSVP form and saw that the luncheon would cost $75 for non-members (a mere $45 for members). It was at this moment that I had a brilliant idea. Everybody in this city respects one thing and one thing only: Press. Why, might you ask; because press means money and money means power and power is good. Thus, my elaborate plot was born.

The Franklin club is only one block from the CP office. So, on my way back from my breakfast adventures, I thought that I would scope out my lunchtime prey. It was at this point that I realized that the Franklin club was a jacket mandatory type of place. Damn, I thought. I knew that I should have been super fancy and sprung for the jacket today. Nobody ever says no to somebody in a jacket. People in jackets have purpose they belong in this town. But alas I hadn’t brought the jacket and thus began my quest to find one.

I started my quest for the holy jacket that would bring me expensive food like any intern would. I emailed out intern listserv here at CAP. Although nobody had a jacket that would fit a 6’5 200 pound guy (surprise, right?), somebody did suggest that I go look in our coat closet. Too scared of the Coat closet myself, I asked CAP’s very own Tyler Hall where to find a spare jacket that didn’t belong to anybody (I’m pretty sure you lose points if you wear John Podesta’s jacket to the Franklin club by accident). Tyler said that there weren’t very many places to find one but he would take me to the coat room to see. When we arrived at the coat room, there she was—a corduroy, J-crew, undersized, shabby jacket; I immediately thought: there is no way I’m getting in with this. But I didn’t have any options did I. I put the glorious piece of worn gray fabric on to silent laughter and judging grins. “Are you really going to wear that?” “You bet your life I am,” I thought. Well, I didn’t really have a choice did I. Upon donning the jacket, I put my hands in the pockets to demonstrate my comfort with the garment. This was mine. I will live or die by this jacket I thought proudly. However, a second later I was throwing my battle coat to the floor and prancing away like a wounded animal screaming and laughing in disgust. Inside the pocket left pocket, much to my surprise, there was a used condom wrapper. Of course, I did what any mature person would do. I freaked out and told everybody leaving the wrapper on the floor where my hand had expelled it upon discovery. So, I reconsidered. Maybe I’ll just hold the jacket I thought. So, jacket in one arm and the aforementioned letter to the editor in another, Aditi and I set out on the long hike around the corner to the Promised Land.

We arrived at this said Promised Land to blank stares and slight confusion. “We’re here for the Transportation Meeting thing,” I said in the most professional way possible. “Oh, they just closed the doors,” the receptionist replied as he pointed to the private room. Although the glass was frosted, it was clear; everybody behind those doors was male, everybody was wearing a suit, everybody had a laptop, and everybody was a good deal older than either of us are. As the receptionist went to get the head of the meeting, Aditi and I looked at each other. “We can still bail out you know,” as I looked at her nervously. We decided to wait and see what happened. After all, the worst they could do was laugh at us or say no. We waited for a minute but could see a couple of people inside talking and pointing at us. Finally, a man came out to ask us who we were and why we were there. I handed him my letter printed in black and white on 1 cent paper. He looked at it and told me he would be right back. “Yea, we’re screwed I thought” but we were already there so what did we have to lose. Then, another man came out of the room and shook our hands. He asked us all about Campus Progress and CAP and chatted with us about why we were there. I of course expressed my deep and sincere interest in the NCPPP, which I was only able to recall because of the big pasteboard behind the man. But then the letdown came. As handed me his card he said, “I’m really sorry but unfortunately this meeting is a closed meeting for deliberations.” Huh, I thought. Online it said that non-members could come. When pressed on it he explained that they have non-members that can deliberate but not vote and that they are integral to the meeting. I looked down at his card finally and realized that I was speaking to the Executive Director of the NCPPP. Despite refusing out entry he said that he would love to work on an article with us and maybe we could get together next week. Lunch! I thought. Maybe I will get some free food out of this. We parted ways and as Aditi and I walked towards the exit, I couldn’t help but think about all that we were missing. Trays of butter sat on the table with white wine, bread baskets and more forks than I’ve seen in a row since I watched my mom clean her grandmother’s silver. I had lost this battle but I wasn’t going home empty-handed. We said bye to the receptionist and right before we turned to go out the door I spotted a tray of fruit and cookies in the front lounge area. “Hey man, can I have a cookie?” He looked surprised but I knew that he felt for me. “Yea, go for it.” The white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookie was no lavish $75 meal but at least I didn’t come back empty-handed. And hey, maybe I have a lunch date for next week’s finals.

Determined not to give up after a morning of preparation and Richard B. Norment’s staggering refusal, I decided to go to my back-up lunch discussion at New Democracy Network (NDN). Much to my delight, they had a large table full of salads, sandwiches, chips, and other goodies. In addition, they had a nice little bar with a variety of soft drinks and other beverages (including a tap for nighttime alcohol appropriate events). After a really delicious chicken salad sandwich (I LOVE chicken salad—don’t know why) I had a mozzarella di bufala sandwich and variety of salady things (btw, everybody thinks that you are totally crazy when you pull out your phone and start taking pictures of your lunch). I, of course, put bags of chips in my pocket for later and then I sat down to listen to an economist tell me why we can stop climate change without destroying our economy—ugh, this isn't big news. About five minutes after I sat down, a man walked in and tapped me on the shoulder, “Hey kid, where did you get that sandwich?” I pointed and he walked off after the food. About 15 minutes later he ran behind the camera and bolted out the door. Appropriately, he gave me a “thumbs up” on his way out as if to say, I’m the master of free food.” I was taken aback but inspired. Unfortunately, the moderator didn’t know how to keep an acceptable time limit so I left after the 15th question.

Dissatisfied with my performance and still sad about my earlier failure I hit the streets. After a few minutes of walking, I walked into the Willard Hotel. Talk about swanky. A meal here may have rivaled the Franklin Club. With no food to be found I headed to the door when a spread of desserts caught my eye. Without even thinking I sprinted to the table and found the closest plate. I piled it high with brownies, cookies, muffins, cakes, and other assorted sweets and made a run for the door. Proud of my accomplishment, I headed back to CAP to bribe the judges. There are still a few left if anybody is looking for an afternoon pick-me-up…