Alyssa P. Hacker's Swiss underwear

["Michael McGeachie" <mmcgeach@>]

Alyssa P. Hacker was wearing Swiss underwear.  Nothing naughty (although
"Swiss underwear" sounds like code for something pornographic) just some
satiny red panties with a white cross on the front.  Hmm.  Panties.
Bloomers.  Underpants.  She didn't like any of these terms that much.
Something about the nascency of women's lib in America, a feminist argument
might go, and it moving much faster than our lexicon evolves, would leave us
without the right words to use for things like women's underwear.  How
recently were we allowed to even talk about them, after all?  Surely not
before the sixties, she thought.  As far as Alyssa was concerned, America
began in the sixties.

She was standing in line at the counter of the 7-11.  It was late, and the
one guy working there wasn't prepared to handle these random rushes of
customers that sometimes materialized, for no rational reason, out of the
steamy wisps of sublimating moisture escaping from the subway tunnels and
sewer drains on cold autumn nights.  Maybe probability, or chaos theory, or
something, explains these sorts of jumbles of people lining up all of a
sudden, she thought, where for hours before there had been no one.

A Swiss flag outside of Switzerland is almost like a vote for neutrality,
Alyssa thought.  Neutrality, and non-judgmentalism.  Is that the same as
being opinionless?  Or can you have your opinions, but sort of keep them in
check and be prepared to take any side of an issue, when the right
opportunity presents itself?  Opportunism.  Yes, there are worse symbols to
wear beneath your jeans.  But what fun is symbolic underwear if you can't
show it to anyone?  There's all this metaphor waiting to be shared, and no
one to share it with.  Alyssa went through her mental list of ex-boyfriends.
No, best to leave them out of this.

President Clinton was at the front of the line, and he ordered a hotdog.  A
chilidog. "I like the relish, there, son." The former President spoke to the
teenager behind the counter wearing the 7-11 polo t-shirt.  "Heap a little
more o' that relish on there, that'll make it right and tasty, yes it will.
That's a hotdog for a good America.  See that relish drip off the side into
the chili-barbecue sauce pooling in the little cardboard tray it's served
in?  That's the Relish of American Entrepreneurialism accumulating in the
Sauce of Global Economic Prosperity.  And when that happens, that's good for
America, son.  And what's good for America is good for all of us.  This
hotdog, this is the Hotdog of my Presidency.  But this hotdog, son, for a
buck ninety-seven, is not just a symbol of prosperity, it is also a symbol
of great want.  How many go without in our country?"  The boy had been
staring at Bill Clinton, while holding motionless an overflowing serving
spoon full of chili.  "Add a little mustard there and some of those diced
cucumbers.  Now... whaddaya call that?"  
	"Chicago style?" the boy ventured. 
	"Yes, thank you son.  They make a mighty fine 'dog in the Windy
City, don't they?  But isn't this fine, Chicago-style chilidog a worthy
solution to the hunger problem?  Could we not, for one ninety-seven, build a
stronger America where each man, woman, and child can have a chilidog such
as this if he desires it?  I ask you, is that so much?  Can our country come
together, not as Republicans and Democrats, but as Americans, and provide
that hotdog to those that need it?  We could, I think, quench that hunger.
And this hotdog, son, this hotdog is a start.  It will feed that hunger!
Not the hunger of the Nation, but the hunger of One Man.  And today, son,
that man is me."

Alyssa watched Clinton pay for his hotdog and eye it greedily.  I wonder,
she thought, if there's one man who might appreciate me showing him my Swiss
underwear...  Yes, it's either him or I'll just end up showing everyone at
this week's...


            +-                                                  -+
              girl scout benefit -+-  5:30 pm  -+- 32-G9 lounge
            +-                                                  -+

               For those coming from elsewhere: Building 32 is
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           Once you are in 32, just take the G-elevator to the 9th
       floor and we will be in the lounge that you will be looking at
                     <http://projects.csail.mit.edu/gsb>


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