I gritted my teeth but kept a smile on my lips. While I knew this would come up in my job interview, I had hoped it wouldn’t. Even six years later I got sick thinking about it. Hope hadn’t conquered reality.

Yes, I’m the one Secret Service agent that survived that debacle. And no, I wasn’t fired. I resigned. And the reason I resigned wasn’t the death of the President and her husband. It was all the fault of the First Brat,

First Brat is what I called the President’s son as soon as I saw him. Well, I had been told to call the boy “her” and “she” and use the name Sheila. Transgender they said. I still can’t understand why they had assigned me to the First Brat’s team. I hated children. I didn’t hate transgender people. I just thought they were crazy. You are who you are. That’s decided at birth. A boy is a boy. A girl is a girl. I certainly never had any crazy ideas like that.

It was hate at first sight. Mutual at that. I had been assigned to the First Brat despite my objections and I had sworn to do my duty. The boy saw the contempt in my eyes and sighed. Surprisingly he just said: “Oh, what the fuck. Another phobe. Why bother, they are just as bad all of them. At least he doesn’t appear to be as bad as that woman agent. Let’s keep him” And then he gave me a good look. “At least he’s a hunk.”.

That was the first of many times the First Brat made me uncomfortable. I did no appreciate to hear that from a 13-year-old boy dressed in a frilly dress. I’m not gay and I deplore the early sexualization of children in our society.

That was only the beginning of “beautiful” troubled relationship. The boy was not only weird but lazy as well. AND he played the victimization card all the time. Oh, he got how I despised him all right, even if I couldn’t say anything and he hit back. I hate to think about how many shops for young teen girls he dragged me to. And every time he asked me for my opinion about that dress, skirt, top or high heeled shoes looked on him. I cringed every time. Especially since his fashion sense was not exactly on the demure side. How his parents let him get away with I can’t understand. I mean, he WAS the First Brat and in the public view! Well, actually I DO understand how he got away with it. His parents didn’t really give a damn about him. The less contact they had the happier they were. They were aware of it and probably felt somewhat guilty, and the kid was an expert in the victimization game. The fact that the didn’t have ONE relative closer that an old spinster second cousin once removed didn’t exactly help either combined with the distance the position of First Brat placed between him and his school mates. No peer pressure/correction.

I said the boy was lazy. He sure wasn’t stupid but did abysmally in school. I did not enjoy going back to school. I told you that I hated children. Besides I was never comfortable that the First Brat was out of my sight in the locker room. I wasn’t allowed in the girls’ locker room. I couldn’t fathom how they let HIM. Anyway, the expensive private school had a female security guard in the locker room but I still felt uncomfortable letting the kid out of my sight. I felt it was unprofessional. I also resented the way the school coddled him. Why did they let him get away with doing nothing? I might have mentioned once or twice to the First Brat that he should study more. Then he hit back and challenged me to explain things he didn’t understand. I wasn’t hired to be some damned tutor! On the other side I hated to see a very sharp, if carefully hidden, brain just go to waste. Of course I wasn’t paid any extra for all those extra hours. At least the First Brat didn’t waste my efforts. His grades went up. Amazingly fast too.

I’m not sure but that may have had something to do with the kid starting to actually listen to my opinions when shopping. I still didn’t exactly approve of how “she” dressed” but still, it wasn’t any longer borderline slutty.

This didn’t happen overnight but after two years the First Brat and I achieved something of a mutual respect. “She” really was bright and if I had a long talk with her before any public appearance “she” started to act like a proper, almost professional, First Daughter. I had to careful though and keep “her” on a tight leash.

Then “she” started dating. Besides from firmly believing it was unnatural I had the unenviable task of vetting any potential date/boyfriend. That first boy, very cute and all, wouldn’t do; drug possession. That “awfully cute” Arab boy? Well, his cousin’s cousin featured in Homeland Security files as a potential terrorist. Of course I vetoed him. Then there was that totally vanilla kid. I couldn’t understand what “Sheila” saw in him. I had no objections though. The vetting turned out that the boy really was completely vanilla. And boring! One date only. “Sheila” claimed it was because I intimidated him. I firmly reject any such accusation. Then there was Bob. I liked him. Bright, fun and HE wasn’t intimidated by me. I still don’t know why I didn’t veto him. He did have a previous speeding ticket. I hate to admit it but they were cute together. Sometimes I even forgot that “Sheila” really was a boy. OK. I admit, “Sheila” was on “her” way to become a lovely girl. Too bad their relationship foundered after the “incident”.

Yes, the incident. I still can’t remember anything about it. I have been told I did some remarkable things and have the scars to prove it but I just can’t remember. Unfortunately the only thing I DO remember is hugging the terrified teenage girl with the blody corpses of her parents in front of us. She had lost EVERYTHING. Probably more than she realized. When trying to comfort the sobbing girl I didn’t tell her that MY assignment was over. She wasn’t the First Brat any longer.

When I got out of hospital I resigned. I was not up to another personal protection assignment. So, it really was the First Brat’s fault that I left the Secret Service. AND I want to stress that I resigned on my initiative. They practically begged me to stay. I got a 9 to 5 job where I have worked since then but now I feel the time has come for something more challenging again. That’s why I applied for this job.

I’m afraid that this has taken longer than I had planned so I have to leave now.

Not finished? I don’t give a damn. I have more important things to do than to play the game the way you want to. To be perfectly honest I don’t rate your interviewing skills very highly.

What is more important than you? Many, many things. But in particular my daughter’s graduation from university. Summa Cum Laude! I’m extremely proud of that young woman. Even if Sheila complains that I still intimidate her boyfriends.