The room was practically empty, the other press were nowhere to be seen. The Press Secretary took to the podium with 'reports of' and 'state departments say' and 'videos show'. Hey man, I want some answers, lady! Let's get to the root of the seed of the reasons for this deadly mess, I pressed. She stared at me and asked me politely to put on a mask.
To this I scoffed, muttering something low and true about suffocation, and got back to demanding more clarity. Tell me about Ukrainian oil money, tell me about bribes, tell me about grease. I pressed like the press should. She asked me again to put on a mask, this time with a 'please' and a point to a sign. I pressed more about the Ukrainian adoption industry, the Ukrainian drug scene, conditions for Ukraininan women and children, Ukrainian widows, Ukrainian boards.
Then she rudely told me, "Sir, put on a mask now!" I stared at her silently for 30 seconds, it was me and her, her and me, eyes to eyes, my brains against her mush. She was unmasked, she was red, she didn't blink once, she raged with hate, she reminded me of my 4th grade teacher who was so into Language Arts. I ignored her command and kept on pressing; inhaling oxygen, exhaling carbon dioxide, asking open ended questions, yes/no questions, fill in the blankers, hypotheticals, theoreticals. She finally squeezed up a tear and left me alone in the press room to "Reflect on your manners and review the protocols--like the others."