A short walkway separates the EEOB and the West Wing. You’ll be shuttling back and forth between the two buildings several times a day. Before things get hectic, take some time to get acclimated to your new office and don’t be afraid to personalize the space. Quarters are tight—there are six of you to a room, and you’re going to be working long hours. Thankfully, your coworkers will be some of the most dedicated, intelligent people you’ll ever meet—they’ll also help make your little corner of EEOB 112A feel like a second home.
Tip A: Invest in a Mini Fridge
We both know you have a tendency to get hangry, so let’s talk about the culinary situation at the White House. You’re not in Hollywood anymore. There’s no catering, and there are no production assistants, so no one is ordering you a vegan burrito with fair-trade, organic, shade-grown coffee at 10 a.m. Also, 10 a.m. is super late in Washington; you’ll be at work by seven thirty most mornings. Make yourself some oatmeal before you leave home.
Lunch is easily brought or bought, but since your workdays will usually end between 8:30 and 11 p.m., you’ll need to plan ahead for dinner. As a midlevel staffer, you’re not allowed to access the nice White House Mess—that’s reserved for senior officials and, despite Eli Attie’s advice, you are not a Special Assistant to the President. Unlike what you saw on The West Wing, forget about ordering delivery. Sure, the cooks at G Street Food seem nice, but the Secret Service won’t allow it because foreign or domestic adversaries working at nearby restaurants could decide to poison your meal when they see where it’s going.
Also, bad news: The area around the White House becomes a gastronomic dead zone after about 6:00 p.m. So, you’ll have to do what normal people across this great nation do every day: be economical and healthy and pack a dinner from home. DC is an expensive city. Save your pennies.
Since a homemade salad or tacos won’t keep on your desk for twelve hours, invest in a mini fridge. Go to the Target in Columbia Heights on a Saturday. The fridge is a bit bulky, so ask your intern James to help you bring it back on the Metro, through Lafayette Park, and into the northwest gate. He’s going to be comically bad at lifting things and you’re going to want to yell at him a little, but this is not Hollywood and you’re not an actor so you can’t throw tantrums to get your way. Be nice.
And don’t be intimidated by the Secret Service guys on the White House roof with sniper rifles: Yes, you’re two dudes walking through Lafayette Park with a big box trying way too hard not to look suspicious, but you have your blue badge and they know what’s up. They have to eat too; they understand the need for the fridge.
One final food tip: In emergency situations only, you can head down to the basement and pick up a vending machine sandwich. It’s in a small nook down the hall from the bowling alley. Bring $2.25 in exact change. The cheese sandwich is the most edible option and consists of two slices of （allegedly） yellow cheese on （supposedly） white bread with （purportedly） mustard-colored mayo. For me, your future self—don’t eat too much of this stuff. Your friends in Hollywood would be horrified if they found out you consumed white carbs. And please let our thirty-one-year-old metabolism know I miss you and I’m sorry I took you for granted.
Tip B: How to Hang Things on Your Office Wall
Look at that bare wall. If this is a second home, it needs to look like one. Put up some photos!
Moved as you were in the civil rights museum during the inaugural concert, you’ll want to be reminded of Grandpa’s legacy of public service each day as you begin your own. So, you’ll consider bringing in that framed photo of Gandhi that Grandpa had at his house—the one you remember from your childhood summer visits—to hang on your office wall. It’s an important family heirloom safely stored in a New Jersey attic, and I know you’re nervous about it. Relax, the White House is the safest place in the world. （See: snipers on roof, no-poison food.） Nobody is going to steal the photo.
Heads-up, when you do bring it into the office, a coworker will politely inform you: “You aren’t allowed to nail anything to the walls, Kal. You’re going to have to call GSA.” The GSA is the General Services Administration—one of the entities that helps support the basic functioning of federal agencies. They enforce the rules about the rules. As a public servant, you have to obey those—they have been set up to ensure good government.
You’ll think to yourself: Okay, no problem, I guess I’ll just call GSA to get permission to hang the Gandhi photo and be good. Not so fast. You have to follow a few simple steps. I’m writing them out here for your reference:
Step One: Fill out a Work Order form, which is easily found on the office intranet. Print it out, sign it, and go downstairs to the room where Work Order requests are filed.
Step Two: The door will be locked. Come back later in the afternoon.
Step Three: The door will still be locked. Someone in the hallway will casually mention that the woman who processes those forms has worked in government for decades and has accordingly accrued a lot of time off. She usually comes in around ten thirty, takes an unnecessarily long lunch, and leaves work by three thirty.
Step Four: Wait a full day. Don’t worry pal, that picture is going to look great on your wall.
Step Five: The next day, schedule your meetings around Five-Hour-Workday Government Lady, and you’ll finally be able to complete step one: dropping off the form. It’s now in a basket on her desk. Great job! Don’t bother asking anything like, “When will they let me hang it?” because she’ll only tell you, “They’ll be in touch.”
Step Six: At some point, you’ll get an email asking when you can be available for a call （Step Seven, below） to talk with someone about the Work Order request （Step One） you have put in （Step Five） for the photo you want to hang. You can complete Step Six by replying via email to schedule the phone call （Step Seven） for the next day. Hello Gandhi!
Step Seven: The phone call. The following day, somebody will call you to confirm the details you have already listed on the （Step One） form: How big is the photo? How heavy do you think it might be? The Step Seven human will eventually ask to schedule a time and date when （Step Eight!） he can come to your office. He’ll be booked for a few days, so go ahead and save yourself some time by scheduling an appointment for the following week.
Step Eight: When half a fortnight passes, a nice man wearing an exceptionally large tool belt will show up and complete the final step—he’ll hammer a nail into your wall. Then he will leave. Oh, you thought he’d go ahead and hang the picture up too? Silly, silly, Baby Kal. He is Captain of the Nails. He only shows up to hammer one into the wall. It’s your responsibility to hang the picture up yourself. Welcome to the federal government, buddy.
Now look, I know these rules are meant to be followed, so you can choose to do all of that bureaucratic time-wasting nonsense with the forms… or… make things more efficient. Keep this between us and take a peek behind your office door. You’ll see a stray nail in the corner—leftover from when some past staffer took down a picture. Wait until everyone has left for the night and yank it out. Use the back of your stapler to bang it into the wall next to your desk, and hang that photo, homie! After all, your grandparents marched with Gandhi because they were idealistic. They weren’t rule followers.