Previously... Letter to Bill and Hill
This is the
story about how I purely by happenstance met Bill and Hillary Clinton privately.
One
Thursday night a few years ago, I think spring of 2001, I met my girlfriend
Mimmi for drinks in Manhattan. We met
right after work in a restaurant called Opia on Lexington and 57th
Street. Mimmi was then working for the
Finnish government , and I had just moved from a job with the Finnish
government to work for a Danish pharmaceutical firm.
So, we are
sitting in the lounge in Opia sipping Cosmopolitans and chatting about
life. All of the sudden Mimmi gets a
surprised look on her face and exclaims: “I think I just saw Bill Clinton
walking in!” Mimmi’s eyesight is not the
greatest and she has a wonderful imagination.
I responded to her that it is highly unlikely that Bill Clinton would
just casually walk into this joint.
Mimmi and I
finished our drinks and went to visit the ladies’ room before heading
home. We are sitting in the stalls and
debating in Finnish language whether Bill Clinton could really be in the house. Suddenly we hear in Finnish: “Yes, you are quite right. Bill Clinton is hosting his staff party in
our private room.” A voice of a Finnish waitress
of the restaurant. Out of the toilet
rushes Mimmi – hyperactive thyroid makes women very, very fast – and I run after
her still trying to pull my pants on. Mimmi
heads straight towards the private room, me at her heels: “Mimmi! We cannot go in there!” But Mimmi just keeps on walking and I
follow. Four Secret Service agents guard
the door, smile at us friendlily: “Welcome ladies!” Two Finnish blondes are
always invited to any party in NYC.
The room we
just entered is rather full. Large
room. Remind you, this is Bill Clinton’s
private staff party. This is post his
presidency when he already had opened his office in Harlem, New York City. On the other side of the room we see Bill and
Hillary Clinton chatting with the guests.
Mimmi and I negotiate whether we should go ahead and approach them. Towards us walks a dark haired woman
introducing herself as Anna, Bill Clinton’s Head of Staff: “What are you doing
here? This is a private party.” Anna
waves to the Secret Service agents who are now looking somewhat embarrassed,
asking them to move closer. Mimmi hands
Anna a business card and explains that we just really would like to greet Bill
Clinton. Naturally, Mimmi, working for
the Finnish government has diplomatic status.
I am unshielded, unprotected, a non-citizen yet very luckily a legal
alien, now totally convinced that I will be immediately imprisoned for an indefinite
length of time and then deported from USA.
But now, because of Mimmi’s status, there is a diplomatic
situation. Anna signals the Secret Service
agents to back off, and tries to, very politely, convince Mimmi and me to
leave. I am getting more and more panicky
by the second.
Finally, after
requesting Anna the favor of obtaining Bill Clinton’s autograph and mailing it
to her, Mimmi agrees that we should leave.
We leave the room, and go down the two-part staircase leading to the
exit. We stop at the platform in the
middle of the staircase. Mimmi, all excited
and proud about having crashed Bill Clinton’s staff party phones her husband
and son! I am still nervous, my heart is pounding, I am sweating and I just want to get out into fresh air within the
safe neutral zone of a late nigh Manhattan street. Suddenly, one of the Secret Service agents
comes down the stairs to ascertain safe exit for President Clinton and Hillary
Clinton. The agent into his
walkie-talkie: “All clear, just those
two Finnish ladies here.” Mimmi and I look up
the staircase and Bill and Hillary are descending! Nobody else around, just the four of us! Bill and Hillary stop in front of us and
introduce themselves: “Hello, I am Bill Clinton.” “Hello, I am Hillary Clinton.”
“Pleasure to meet you. Where are you from?”
And we shake hands.
I must say
Bill Clinton has the most charismatic personality of anybody I have ever
met. And a huge handshake! (Being sexy and single in New York City I
could not help but wondering what else he might have huge). No wonder Hillary Clinton writes in her book
that the first quality she fell in love with in Bill Clinton were his
hands.
Back to the
staircase in Opia restaurant. After a
little bit of chatting – none by me, I was stricken mute, Bill did most of the
talking as he spent some time in Finland as a student and has very fond memories
about that time - Hillary is getting anxious and starts pulling Bill down the
staircase by his hand. Out the door they
go, into their Hummers, the whole cavalcade speeding away very fast lights
blinking down Lexington Avenue.
Breaking
the most basic rule of hygiene, I did not wash my right hand for several days
trying to safeguard the magic of having shaken Bill Clinton’s hand.