Int. Department Store—Day
(DONALD TRUMP enters a store and heads for the pajama section. He immediately engages the SALESGIRL after first briefly fondling the tops of her thighs through her clothes. As he does, he lets out a … )

TRUMP
“Zowie!”
(The young lady is startled by the explosive exclamation)
“You’re almost as hot as Ivanka.”

(TRUMP then utters an obligatory greeting—after all, it’s polite to say “Hi” after groping a woman.)

TRUMP (CONT’D)
“Good morning, ma’am. Another glorious day in MAGA-land. I don’t suppose I could interest you in one of my new Bibles. Sixty bucks, and I’ll include my autograph for an extra five.”

(TRUMP’s enthusiasm seems genuine and he grabs her crotch, yet a second time, cheering himself on with a barely audible whisper:)

TRUMP (CONT’D)
“These girls’ll let you do anything—when you’re as important as I am.”

(Unflappable, the SALESGIRL takes it all in stride. After all, one can’t allow little embarrassments and momentary outrage to stand in the way of a sale, and this guy looks like he could buy the whole store. There’s just something about his alligator golf shoes—and the generous belly hanging over his Gucci belt—that really does give him the look of enormous success.)

TRUMP (CONT’D)
“I’d like to buy some red and white pajamas—you know, something to go with my special red and white ball cap. Yeah, I know it sounds a bit odd, but I wear that cap every night. It’s practically glued to my head.”

(Then, as an aside, TRUMP intimates bending toward her as if to share a secret)

TRUMP (CONT’D)
“Just between you and me, I have a little bald spot up on top, so I don’t go anywhere without it. Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot more hair than Abraham Lincoln ever did—and almost as much as Donny Osmond at the peak of his career.”

SALESGIRL (Apologetic)
“I’m sorry, sir, I understand your concern. We do have some red and white PJs, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to find your size. After all, you’re a bit bigger than the average child, and you might have better luck shopping in a store that caters more to adults.”

(A disturbed look comes over TRUMP. He is obviously very miffed.)

TRUMP
“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t need to be preached to and, believe me, this is exactly the kind of store that will have what I want. You know, I really hate people who try to second-guess me and who dare question my mental clarity. Believe me, I know what I’m doing. I’ve already looked at other stores, and they simply don’t have what I need.”

(TRUMP gathers himself together, as if to begin an important announcement.)

TRUMP (CONT’D)
“It’s an absolute must. I have to have something in a fabric that is super fire retardant—you know, for my safety.”

(The SALESGIRL discreetly rolls her eyes and does a surreptitious looney signal, circling her ear twice with her index finger in a way that only her confederate at the next register can view.)

SALESGIRL (apologetic)
“Well, sir, I just think you’d be a lot better off shopping in another store’s adult clothes section, where they have sizes bigger than 14.”

TRUMP (scowling)
“But that’s something my tailor can fix. The big problem is that none of the adult clothes are fireproof, and I feel silly carrying my fire extinguisher to bed every night.”

(A quizzical look of disbelief comes over the SALESGIRL.)

SALESGIRL
“What! Did I hear you correctly, sir? Did you actually say a ‘fire extinguisher?’”

TRUMP
“Yup! You heard me right. I don’t say anything by mistake—unless I’m being confused by one of those horrible foreign-made teleprompters at one of my rallies. ‘Fire extinguisher’ is what I said. Yeah, I loathe it, and I’m really getting tired of having to sleep with that big, uncomfortable brass cylinder—although it reminds me, just a bit, of Stormy. You know, she’s a really buxom lady,”
(Trump winks)
“She’s built like a brick shithouse.”

(The SALESGIRL doesn’t seem amused, and she has a confused look on her face.)

SALESGIRL
“May I be so bold as to ask why you take a fire extinguisher to bed with you? I realize some people suffer from paranoia, but that’s going a bit too far. Maybe, instead of dealing with such an inconvenience, you should just talk with your shrink about it. I’m sure a good psychiatrist would be able to help you get rid of your fears … so that you wouldn’t worry so much about fire.”

(TRUMP stops to think for a moment, and it’s obvious that the mental taxation is far too demanding.)

TRUMP
“Perhaps you’re right. But then again, I don’t think there’s any way for me to ever feel safe that I won’t spontaneously ignite from the waist down while I’m asleep. After all, I’ve been warned, over and over, that fire is my greatest enemy and that I must be ready at all times. You see, I recently started having realistic nightmares about my very unique view of reality, and how I’ve sometimes—but rarely—fudged a bit on the truth. Several mornings, I’ve awakened to the smell of smoke and an uncomfortable level of heat around my pajama legs. And you know what they say: the family jewels must be vigilantly protected from all hazards. They do say that, don’t they?”

(The SALESGIRL chuckles.)

SALESGIRL
“I’m not familiar with that saying,” she acknowledges, “but it seems like really good advice.”

TRUMP
“Yeah. I’m a very courageous man. I’ve bravely lived through countless humiliating news reports, weeks of being persecuted by the court system, a mother who never really understood me, and I’ve suffered the indescribable pain of bone spurs. None of those really scared me; they weren’t such a big deal … but I find fire really frightening. The idea of waking up in the morning, naked from the waist down, and seeing my most prized possessions looking like a box of deep-fried KFC is probably my most terrifying fear. My morbid dread of fire may sound silly to some people, but I’m a real believer in the sayings of the wise—like ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire,’ so you can see that my fears are well justified.”

(A look of sympathy washes over the SALESGIRL’s face.)

SALESGIRL (with sympathy)
“Oh, dear, I can understand why you’re so paranoid.”

(TRUMP reflects for a moment, then offers a parting thought.)

TRUMP
“If, by some chance, I don't rise again three days after dying, I hope they’ll remember to treat me just like King Tut—sending me off with everything I’ll need for the afterlife. And of course, just in case my Christian friends are right about hell, they’d better include my fire extinguisher.”

(Curtain closes)
The End (We Hope)

The author is a retired businessman, novelist, columnist and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He resides in Riverton with his wife, Carol, and their adorable and ferocious dog “Poppy.” comments@cityweekly.net