CAMBRIDGE, MA— The employee-owners of the Harvest Food Co-op come from many different communities, many different walks of life. White and African American, Asian and Latino. Gay and Straight. Professional and working class.
They can now count a former US president among their number.
Early by ten minutes for the interview, I watched as Bush carefully chopped and wrapped blocks of bulk tofu.”I put in my 10 hours a week, which increases my discount from 1% to 5% on everything they sell here,” says a relaxed George Walker Bush, former US president. “Over a year, that can add up. Especially if you’re trying to eat organic.”
“Don’t ever write that I don’t know how hard it can be, to put food on your family.”
Taking his break at the Clear Conscience Cafe, the Co-op’s eco-conscious eatery, Dubya sipped a mocha latte with soymilk. “Took me over fifty years to realize that dairy gave me gas. Not that I didn’t enjoy blasting Cheney now and then.” He shook his head, and laughed in a way not unlike the parody performed by Will Farrel. “Good times.”
How does he respond, when the overwhelmingly liberal shoppers and staff of the Coop give him a hard time?
“Hey,” I tell them, “Have you ever fucked up at a job? Huh? Have you, Nguyen? For Christ’s sake, I wanted to be baseball commissioner. Fucking Cheney came around and told me the country needed me. Blah, blah, blah. Next thing I know I’m staring into Putin’s eyes and wondering what the in the name of holy shit I’m gonna say next.”
A more somber Bush picked at his green goddess salad. “You know, I really do kick ass at a barbecue. That’s why I almost beat that Gore douche-bag, first time around. Damn that guy was a stiff. We probably should have let poindexter have it, of course, the way it all turned out.” Bush paused to high-five an employe pushing a mop and bucket. “Up high, Tchi!xo. Don’t leave me hanging!”
Smiling again, Bush continued. “What are you going to do? Still, I do like a good barbacue”
Asked point blank why he’s working at the Co-op, living at the Central Square YMCA down the street, his face takes on that familar look of dead-pan resolve.
“After Laura gave me the boot, I hit the bottle for awhile. It was bad. Real bad. I needed a change of pace. I wanted to go somewhere I would be no big deal. Then it hit me. The People’s Republic of Cambridge. They let the gays get married there. I figured they couldn’t turn me away.”
“I had to get away from all those assholes talking about politics all the damn time. Politics never interested me, to tell you the truth.” He paused to wipe a few a fleck of avocado from the corner of his mouth. “You wanna talk baseball?”
