Ethan wasn’t entirely sure when or how it had become a thing—Gene just showing up at his house unannounced, inviting himself in and helping himself to a bowl of cereal which he ate standing up as if he had other appointments to keep. He wasn’t sure when it had become a thing, but it was definitely a thing. So much so that Ethan had taken to buying a box of Honeycomb just for Gene.
“I fucking hate budget season,” the kid announced as soon as Ethan opened the door. He gave Ethan a cold stare that made the dark circles under his eyes look that much more gray and sunken in the incandescent porch light.
“That’s a bit problematic for someone in Appropriations,” Ethan observed as Gene pushed his way past.
“Ugh … you have no idea! 7,000 pages to review and they’ll just change their minds about everything tomorrow! Then they’ll throw all that work out too and the cycle will continue over and over again until the last minute when they’ll panic and drop a CR.”
A CR, short for Continuous Resolution. A stopgap to keep the government from shutting down that basically said everything we approved you to spend money on last year, just keep spending money on it. We’ll get back to you.
“Democracy in action.”
Gene didn’t seem to have heard him—or even need an audience at all. He was on a rant and it was doubtful anything short of an air strike was going to knock him off course. “Then those same motherfuckers waste all this taxpayer money having all these hearings asking agencies why they don’t do a better job planning for the future, why they put off maintenance, why they don’t do their required number of inspections and it’s like—” he slammed the box of Honeycomb down on the kitchen island and briefly made eye contact with Ethan. “Oh I don’t know, maybe because they have no idea how much money they have to spend year in or year out because Congress hasn’t passed a budget on time in … like … thirty years.”
He nearly spilled the milk all over the counter as he reached to pour it. To spare his cabinets the indignity of being slammed, Ethan pulled open the draw with his silverware and handed Gene a spoon.
A gesture that Gene showed literally no appreciation for as he took it and pointed it accusingly back in Ethan’s face.
“Don’t ask me about catfish.”
Ethan frowned. “…Why would I ask you about catfish?”
Oh no, that was a mistake. It meant an opportunity for Gene to sigh a long, laborious sigh and jump right into the next chapter of his rant. “Fish are regulated by the FDA, except catfish which are regulated by USDA. Senator Donnohue wants to change that because catfish are an invasive species and he’d like people to start catching them and eating them. But fish farms don’t want it to change because FDA regulation is easier and that means the market gets flooded with catfish from Asia. So Donnohue’s people are constantly trying to sneak it in where they think your kind won’t notice it—”
“My kind being suckers who let disaffected Hill staffers freeload processed sugar?”
Gene cradled his bowl of cereal and sunk down on the floor. “Oh God, I cannot sit in another meeting about catfish. You don’t understand…”
“That’s unfortunate. They’re excellent battered and fried.”
Gene snorted.
“You want to hear about my day?”
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