Taco Tuesday With Kirstjen Nielsen

Kirstjen Nielsen sits down at MXDC Cocina Mexicana, a few blocks from the White House in Washington, DC. It has been a trying few days and she just wants to relax and have a nice dinner. Yesterday, she had to face that nasty press corps, which had questions with that unpleasantness at the Mexican border. Something about kids in cages.

Who could blame her for wanting to treat herself? “Besides, it’s Taco Tuesday,” she told nobody in particular when she left her office at the Department of Homeland Security.

“Buenos días,” the waitress asks, with a smile that does not reach her eyes. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Water,” the secretary says without looking up from her menu. “AGUA,” she clarifies in a loud voice.

The phone rings and it’s Steven Miller. “Good news. We got the approval to open that fourth detention center for the toddlers.”

“That’s just the news I needed after a few tough days. Finally, our policy is advancing,” she tells him. “Hey, I’m thinking of calling it the Korematsu Center. What do you think?”

“Anything that triggers the libs,” Miller says in a deadpan voice and hangs up.

A woman walks over to Nielsen’s table, an angry expression on her face. “Shame,” she spits.

“What?”

“Shame on you. If these kids in internment camps can’t enjoy their dinners in peace, neither should you.”

“Ma’am, they are not internment camps. They are detention centers for …”

A Secret Service officer cuts off Nielsen. “Step away, ma’am. Step away now,” he says to the protestor.

The protestor leaves. The waitress returns. Nielsen orders two—DOS—chicken tacos with no sour cream—NO SOURO CREAMO.

Nielsen loses herself in thought. The protestor reminds her of that stressful press conference yesterday. That reporter interrupted her by playing the recording of those kids crying at the detention center—WOMP WOMP. The nerve of some people. Then those reporters rudely questioned as if it were the government’s policy to separate families, just because a few highly-placed administration officials implied as such.

What more did those kids want? The government generously feeds, clothes and shelters them. Sure, some of the kids were crying. But that’s what kids do: they cry. Nielsen remembers crying when she was away at summer camp, but she still went because her parents told her to.

Nielsen’s phone buzzes: a text from President Trump. “Tremendous job at the press conference yesterday. We need to keep these alien children from infesting our country.”

She smiles. “Thank you so much, sir.” This makes all his yelling at her at that meeting a few months ago worthwhile.

“By the way,” Trump adds. “Sessions has a message for you: Romans 13. I assume you know what that means. WIN!”

Before the tacos can even arrive, she hears a disturbance in the restaurant. The patrons move closer to her. They’re screaming “Shame!” and “Liar!” and “End family separation!” and these other awful things. They’re really making a ruckus.

Kirstjen Nielsen is just trying to enjoy a meal. Some people are so rude. It almost hurts her feelings.

Then she stiffens. Nielsen pulls a small device out of her bag. She plus it into her side and the AryanBot app begins its work, charging her with the confidence and sang froid she needs to get through the day. She feels better now.

“We have to go, ma’am,” says the Secret Service agent. “Those protestors are coming closer. It’s not safe.”

She sighs. “And I really was looking forward to that taco.”

Kirstjen Nielsen leaves the Mexican restaurant, trying to ignore the tumult around her. It’s been a rough day but tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow, after all, belongs to her.