Call Me Mr. President

IDLE HANDS ARE THE DEVIL’S WORKSHOP or so I’ve heard. I have been officially retired for about six years now and I’m thinking that maybe I should get a part-time job – just to keep active you understand.

On the front page of the local daily birdcage liner I saw a very detailed Want Ad announcing a job opening that looks right up my alley.

It seems that the President of the Indiana State University is retiring. I could do that job in my sleep. I bet that the person who gets that job gets free pens and some ISU sweatshirts anytime they desire and I say that you can never have too many of either item.

The guy who has the job now says that he wants to spend more time with his grandchildren. I give that about two weeks and he’ll be planning a trip to go trout fishing in Yemen just to get away. The man is in his 60s and a couple weeks of being asked to play “horsey” with the little ones will have him checking flight times out of town.

Part of what makes this job opening so attractive is that I was completely unaware that Indiana State even had a President. If you can have a spot with that title and still be as anonymous as Charlie Manson’s hair stylist then it can’t be that tough a gig. I like that in a job. It sounds like on most days you could sleep in and go for an early lunch and nobody would notice.

I read the whole story about the Prez. retiring and all that. He seems like a nice guy and I’m sure that he did a splendid job, but I’d still have Security check his pockets on his way out the door. I can’t allow my predecessor to stock his desk at home with pilfered office products. Do you know how much one of those nice staplers cost?

I would think that the salary for the position of ISU President has got to be pretty good, and has top notch benefits, free tickets to all of the school’s football games, a discount in the cafeteria, and probably a personal parking space. I like that. My own parking space with my name painted on it – Reserved for President Krafty.” I bet I could even park there overnight and have Dawn pick me up if I was in no condition to drive home after a campus toga party. I could probably get away without having my little blue Gimp Ticket hanging from my mirror.

When I get the job I know what my first task will be. I’ve got to do something about the school’s mascot and team nickname. Being known as “The Sycamores” just doesn’t cut the mustard. How can you go up against the “Fighting Irish,” or the Princeton “Tigers,” or the Georgia “Bulldogs” when your team is known as “The Trees?” We already know what Bulldogs do to trees.

We’ve got to find something better! How about the ISU “Sociopaths,” or the Indiana State “Hoosier Daddies?” We need something that will instill a little fear in the hearts of the opponents. “The ISU Concealed Weapons.” That would make some kid from Oral Roberts University think twice.

I think I would be the perfect candidate for that job – President of Indiana State University, Mr. John “Krafty” Kraft.

I would not interfere with the day to day operation of the school. They’ve been getting along fine for a hundred and some years without my meddling, so I see no reason to start now. As long as I get my own parking space, Cafeteria Line-Cutting Privileges, and a new sweatshirt every now and then, you won’t even know I’m there.

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