Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Funny. I've been there twice and never been groped.
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Trailer Park Trash Trixie's Turkish Torment
- Thread starter Praefectus Praetorio
- Start date
You’re obviously not slinky enough.
Migoz2
Senator
Even though you were wiggling your tight little lovingly cuddled in a thin, tight, and insanely short skirt?
What does a man have to do to get groped these days?!
M
montycrusto
Guest
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
OMG! I just spent 48 minutes on the clock watching that before pausing! How must longer does it go? How many steps are there? That is fascinating!
M
montycrusto
Guest
Something very exciting happens just after the point where you stopped watching
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, Arlington, Virginia.
After an hour and 45 minutes in the air, the jet began its descent into Reagan National. Trixie felt a drunken sailor must have mapped out the approach route, with a fantastic number of sharp twists and plunges until the plane finally entered the last stage, leveled out, and set down, surprising gently, on the tarmac. However, when the plane steadied and she could look out her window without fear, she was captivated by the beauty of Washington at night.
[Trixie, of course, didn't know that the airspace around Reagan National is some of the most restricted in the world. Planes are required to take unusually complicated paths to avoid restricted and prohibited airspace above sensitive landmarks, government buildings (such as the White House, Capitol, and Pentagon), and military installations and to comply with some of the tightest noise restrictions in the country.]
When they got off the plane at 8 PM at gate B12, the crowd wasn't quite as crazy as Atlanta had been. Trixie found her way to the Baggage Claim and soon saw her red American Tourister emerge onto the conveyor. She said a silent prayer of thanks for her incredible good fortune to have met Dr. Sullivan. She couldn't help letting a tear run down her cheek.
Following the signs out at Ground Transportation, she hailed a Taxi and instructed him to take her to the Days Inn by Wyndham, Arlington Pentagon. Her information packet had listed it as a convenient place to stay before moving into the dormitory. Trixie sweated as she watched the meter rapidly climb to just over $25. Meanwhile, the busy roads around the nation's capital made her jaw drop. The girl told herself to get used to it. She was a big girl and committed to her new life. Trixie charged the ride and gave a five-dollar tip that Beatrice had suggested. The hotel (motel) staff was friendly, but it looked like it could use a good cleaning. One night for $99 plus $9 tax. Trixie gulped as she added more debt to her card with no money of her own with which to pay it back. But the room included a complimentary breakfast which would help.
After getting things settled in her room, she went to the hotel restaurant, 'Rincome Thai Cuisine.' The waitress cheerfully explained the menu, and Trixie chose the Pad Cha with crispy pork. The girl explained that Pad Cha was a spicy country curry with Thai eggplant, green beans, and green peppercorns. When it came, it looked quite nice, and Trixie was surprised to find the strange dish very tasty.
The waitress warned every newcomer to Thai cuisine of the spicy nature of the sauce. But our girl, used to the Louisiana hot sauce Tabasco® poured on pork rinds, found the heat just right.
Another $29 plus tip, and she retired to her room. Even though the young redhead was exhausted from the travels, she found it hard to sleep with the excitement of the next day so close!
The following day, Trixie Thomson was up before dawn, cleaned and dressed, and downstairs for the complimentary breakfast when it opened at 6:00 AM. Back to her room for the final touch-up, she was out front waiting for the taxi that the desk had called at 7:25.
The ride to the Foreign Service Institute proved much shorter than the airport run, and the fare was 'only' $19 (plus tip, of course).
Wednesday, February 6th, 2019, FSI, Arlington, Virginia. 8:10 AM
The taxi dropped Trixie off in front of the art deco, James Madison Induction Center at FSI. As she exited the cab, she was astounded by the beauty of the landscaping and architecture. Surely little Trixie Thomson from Branchwater didn't belong at a place like this, she said to herself, her stomach turning with fear. Then another voice spoke, that of Dr. Sullivan. "I'm proud of you, Trixie! You can do anything!" With that thought, our girl pulled herself up straight to her full 5' 3" and walked up to the entrance with her chest out in a fine imitation of confidence. However, to Trixie, it felt as if her heart was about to beat clear out of her chest.
After an hour and 45 minutes in the air, the jet began its descent into Reagan National. Trixie felt a drunken sailor must have mapped out the approach route, with a fantastic number of sharp twists and plunges until the plane finally entered the last stage, leveled out, and set down, surprising gently, on the tarmac. However, when the plane steadied and she could look out her window without fear, she was captivated by the beauty of Washington at night.
[Trixie, of course, didn't know that the airspace around Reagan National is some of the most restricted in the world. Planes are required to take unusually complicated paths to avoid restricted and prohibited airspace above sensitive landmarks, government buildings (such as the White House, Capitol, and Pentagon), and military installations and to comply with some of the tightest noise restrictions in the country.]
When they got off the plane at 8 PM at gate B12, the crowd wasn't quite as crazy as Atlanta had been. Trixie found her way to the Baggage Claim and soon saw her red American Tourister emerge onto the conveyor. She said a silent prayer of thanks for her incredible good fortune to have met Dr. Sullivan. She couldn't help letting a tear run down her cheek.
Following the signs out at Ground Transportation, she hailed a Taxi and instructed him to take her to the Days Inn by Wyndham, Arlington Pentagon. Her information packet had listed it as a convenient place to stay before moving into the dormitory. Trixie sweated as she watched the meter rapidly climb to just over $25. Meanwhile, the busy roads around the nation's capital made her jaw drop. The girl told herself to get used to it. She was a big girl and committed to her new life. Trixie charged the ride and gave a five-dollar tip that Beatrice had suggested. The hotel (motel) staff was friendly, but it looked like it could use a good cleaning. One night for $99 plus $9 tax. Trixie gulped as she added more debt to her card with no money of her own with which to pay it back. But the room included a complimentary breakfast which would help.
After getting things settled in her room, she went to the hotel restaurant, 'Rincome Thai Cuisine.' The waitress cheerfully explained the menu, and Trixie chose the Pad Cha with crispy pork. The girl explained that Pad Cha was a spicy country curry with Thai eggplant, green beans, and green peppercorns. When it came, it looked quite nice, and Trixie was surprised to find the strange dish very tasty.
The waitress warned every newcomer to Thai cuisine of the spicy nature of the sauce. But our girl, used to the Louisiana hot sauce Tabasco® poured on pork rinds, found the heat just right.Another $29 plus tip, and she retired to her room. Even though the young redhead was exhausted from the travels, she found it hard to sleep with the excitement of the next day so close!
The following day, Trixie Thomson was up before dawn, cleaned and dressed, and downstairs for the complimentary breakfast when it opened at 6:00 AM. Back to her room for the final touch-up, she was out front waiting for the taxi that the desk had called at 7:25.
The ride to the Foreign Service Institute proved much shorter than the airport run, and the fare was 'only' $19 (plus tip, of course).
Wednesday, February 6th, 2019, FSI, Arlington, Virginia. 8:10 AM
The taxi dropped Trixie off in front of the art deco, James Madison Induction Center at FSI. As she exited the cab, she was astounded by the beauty of the landscaping and architecture. Surely little Trixie Thomson from Branchwater didn't belong at a place like this, she said to herself, her stomach turning with fear. Then another voice spoke, that of Dr. Sullivan. "I'm proud of you, Trixie! You can do anything!" With that thought, our girl pulled herself up straight to her full 5' 3" and walked up to the entrance with her chest out in a fine imitation of confidence. However, to Trixie, it felt as if her heart was about to beat clear out of her chest.
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Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Quite reasonable. Check for lice.
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Doubt the “free” brekky is much chop either - do they still have powdered “instant breakfast” in the US?
I recall several American low rent places with “free breakfast” where I elected to visit the local Greasy Spoon rather than risk the “kind” offer… even the coffee was undrinkable!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Not everybody has the wealth to afford The Dorchester!
M
montycrusto
Guest
Quite so! I doubt @Barbaria1 could afford luxury like this!Not everybody has the wealth to afford The Dorchester!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Our girl racking up the expenses like a veteran business traveller! Good for her ...
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
"... walked up to the entrance with her chest out in a fine imitation of confidence ..."
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
A warm welcome
Beside the big glass entry doors was a bright banner with the words "Welcome, Legal Professional Candidates" and a group of balloons tied to each end. The warmth of the welcome helped give Thomson the courage to enter.
Entering the foyer, she saw over fifty people, clearly candidates like her, mulling around. About two-thirds were female and the rest male. To Trixie's eye, all were far better dressed and more confident and sophisticated than she. Again, she felt her stomach churn. However, before she could worry more, her attention was drawn to two women at a table to her right. "Come right over here, girl," said a very fashionably turned-out black woman in her mid-thirties. "Let's get you registered." Although the woman spoke beautifully, Trixie recognized a familiar accent. The other woman, white, about fifty, asked in a most friendly tone, "And what is your name, dear?"
"Trixie...I mean Beatrice Thomson," was her slightly stumbling reply.
"That's OK, dear," the woman replied, "We try to be informal here. Trixie is a very nice name."
"Ah-Ha!" chirped the black woman looking at a signup list. "I knew it the moment you opened your mouth. You're from Alabama! Branchwater it says here." Trixie nodded and blushed slightly with embarrassment. The woman stuck out her hand, "Welcome to FSI, Trixie. I’m Leticia Robinson. I spent my youth in Huntsville. My father worked at the Redstone Arsenal. Glad to see an Alabama girl. There are too many damned Yankees around here."
"Leticia!" said the older woman in shock. But she turned to Trixie, "She's right, you know, we need more good people from other places than the Northeast. I’m Margaret Hammond. I'm glad you are with us!"
As the women proceeded to sign Trixie in, the girl couldn’t help noticing a framed certificate on the table with a big blue ribbon. Margaret noticed her stare and explained. "Yes, that is a replica of the certificate you will earn when you graduate."
“Look at that closely, Trixie Girl," added Leticia. "That is your ticket to a career in the United States Foreign Service. You be sure to keep your eye on the prize!"
“Oh. I'll be sure to. I promise you, Ms. Robinson!" said Trixie with all her youthful enthusiasm.
“Tish! Girl. I’m just Leticia. You are among friends here!”
Margaret handed Trixie a blue carry bag of materials with the FSI logo in white. Leticia gave her a name tag, plastic-laminated, on a blue neckstrap. “Wear that proudly, Girl!”
When she looked at the tag, Trixie’s eyes misted slightly. In Bold Black Letters, there was "Beatrice Thomson" over top of the FSI seal. She was really and truly here!
When they finished, Leticia said, “Go and mingle now, Girl. They’ll be calling you all into the auditorium in just a few minutes. Make Alabama proud, now!”
Trixie did as they told her. After only a couple of minutes of greeting and small talk with two young women from Tennessee, the announcement was made. The candidates made their way through the pair of double doors into the John Milton Hay auditorium. Trixie wondered for a moment whether that was the same John Hay that she remembered from History class as one of President Lincoln's two young private secretaries. But why would his name be on a State Department facility? Awed by the beauty of the modern, light-wood paneled room, such thoughts left her as she quickly settled to a seat toward the rear. Her attention was riveted on the elevated stage with soaring frosted windows behind
The new crop of seventy-two candidates for the Embassy Legal Personnel Training Program milled around before rapidly finding seats. Since they were all strangers to each other before the few socializing moments in the hall, most sat alone, while a few of the quick-bonding types sat together for safety in the new situation.
Beside the big glass entry doors was a bright banner with the words "Welcome, Legal Professional Candidates" and a group of balloons tied to each end. The warmth of the welcome helped give Thomson the courage to enter.
Entering the foyer, she saw over fifty people, clearly candidates like her, mulling around. About two-thirds were female and the rest male. To Trixie's eye, all were far better dressed and more confident and sophisticated than she. Again, she felt her stomach churn. However, before she could worry more, her attention was drawn to two women at a table to her right. "Come right over here, girl," said a very fashionably turned-out black woman in her mid-thirties. "Let's get you registered." Although the woman spoke beautifully, Trixie recognized a familiar accent. The other woman, white, about fifty, asked in a most friendly tone, "And what is your name, dear?"
"Trixie...I mean Beatrice Thomson," was her slightly stumbling reply.
"That's OK, dear," the woman replied, "We try to be informal here. Trixie is a very nice name."
"Ah-Ha!" chirped the black woman looking at a signup list. "I knew it the moment you opened your mouth. You're from Alabama! Branchwater it says here." Trixie nodded and blushed slightly with embarrassment. The woman stuck out her hand, "Welcome to FSI, Trixie. I’m Leticia Robinson. I spent my youth in Huntsville. My father worked at the Redstone Arsenal. Glad to see an Alabama girl. There are too many damned Yankees around here."
"Leticia!" said the older woman in shock. But she turned to Trixie, "She's right, you know, we need more good people from other places than the Northeast. I’m Margaret Hammond. I'm glad you are with us!"
As the women proceeded to sign Trixie in, the girl couldn’t help noticing a framed certificate on the table with a big blue ribbon. Margaret noticed her stare and explained. "Yes, that is a replica of the certificate you will earn when you graduate."
“Look at that closely, Trixie Girl," added Leticia. "That is your ticket to a career in the United States Foreign Service. You be sure to keep your eye on the prize!"
“Oh. I'll be sure to. I promise you, Ms. Robinson!" said Trixie with all her youthful enthusiasm.
“Tish! Girl. I’m just Leticia. You are among friends here!”
Margaret handed Trixie a blue carry bag of materials with the FSI logo in white. Leticia gave her a name tag, plastic-laminated, on a blue neckstrap. “Wear that proudly, Girl!”
When she looked at the tag, Trixie’s eyes misted slightly. In Bold Black Letters, there was "Beatrice Thomson" over top of the FSI seal. She was really and truly here!
When they finished, Leticia said, “Go and mingle now, Girl. They’ll be calling you all into the auditorium in just a few minutes. Make Alabama proud, now!”
Trixie did as they told her. After only a couple of minutes of greeting and small talk with two young women from Tennessee, the announcement was made. The candidates made their way through the pair of double doors into the John Milton Hay auditorium. Trixie wondered for a moment whether that was the same John Hay that she remembered from History class as one of President Lincoln's two young private secretaries. But why would his name be on a State Department facility? Awed by the beauty of the modern, light-wood paneled room, such thoughts left her as she quickly settled to a seat toward the rear. Her attention was riveted on the elevated stage with soaring frosted windows behind
The new crop of seventy-two candidates for the Embassy Legal Personnel Training Program milled around before rapidly finding seats. Since they were all strangers to each other before the few socializing moments in the hall, most sat alone, while a few of the quick-bonding types sat together for safety in the new situation.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
I almost feel nervous for the poor girl! Go get 'em Trix!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
A short man who looked a bit of a dandy approached the microphone first said “Good Morning. You are very welcome to the Foreign Service Institute.” He repeated it ten times, each in a different language. He then introduced himself as Brian Walters, Director of the School of Language Studies (SLS). He emphasized that learning the languages of the countries to which they would be posted was regarded as one of the most important achievements for the candidates to attain. As a result, the State Department had, over the years developed one of the most respected language instruction programs in the world.
He explained that only a very few of the candidates had been hired, due to pre-existing, rare language skills, with a specific foreign country in mind. However, most would need to learn a language (or expand their skills) in just a short while. Therefore, the assigning of candidates to prospective Embassies and, therefore language learning, was the very first order of business.
Trixie listened in awe to the man’s language fluency. Would she ever learn to speak a foreign language?
Brian instructed the candidates to take a sheet from their bag with the title, 'Consular Location Preferences.' On the sheet was a listing of the foreign countries with openings for graduates. In the case of the larger countries, there were individual cities listed. The candidates were instructed to mark their top five choices in order. Walters explained that the assignments would be made based on their travel and cultural study experience, preferences, and suitability based on their record coming in.
The top candidates in the auditorium, with outstanding records from the top colleges and extensive travel and language study, set their sights on the widely-desired foreign Embassies in important countries with posh Capitals, such as Berlin, Rome, Paris, Tokyo, Beijing, Moscow, and, of course, everyone's dream post, the Court of St James's.
Trixie, meanwhile, was thrilled with the prospect of any foreign assignment. After growing up in Branchwater, living in such places would be like a trip to the Moon! Therefore, she decided to check off some of the smaller and less well-known locations.
After they turned in their sheets, other moderators explained the detailed points of the upcoming seven weeks of accelerated training. The candidates would live in a government dormitory in nearby Falls Church, where breakfast and dinner were provided, and shuttle buses would transport them back and forth to the Institute six days a week, with Sundays off. The candidates were responsible for buying their own lunch in the cafeteria and any sundry expenses. Since they were not State Department employees, they received no pay until they had earned their certificates. Technically, they were unpaid interns for the next seven weeks. However, they were given $10 per diem expense allowance. Trixie listened closely and feverishly took notes.
Then a tall, commanding man was introduced as Daniel Bennett Smith, Director of the Institute. As he reviewed his career and the importance of training at the Institute, Trixie was very impressed at his bearing and knowledge. [Later, after the time of our story, he would serve for six days as acting Secretary of State in January 2021, during the Presidential Transition].
Smith then made a big deal of introducing the six Training Supervisors. He stressed to the candidates that these were the most important persons during their induction training at the Institute. “Your efforts will succeed or fail based on how you work with these individuals. I can tell you that they are the ‘best of the best.’ Trust them. They will get you through!”
He explained further that they were not the instructors, but their role was to track the candidates' progress and give them any help needed to complete the course. Over and over, the Director emphasized that the supervisors were not there to judge but to do everything they could to help as many as possible to complete the program successfully. Trixie had a warm feeling as she began to think of these supervisors as similar to Dr. Sullivan. There were four women and two men. All spoke briefly, and all came across as very enthusiastic and supportive. Trixie was especially drawn to two of the women who reminded her of her mentor. She said a quiet prayer to be assigned to one of them. The two men were equally enthusiastic, but Trixie wasn't used to a male mentor. And, unfortunately, one seemed grossly overweight. She tried to suppress the unfair bias against him. He seemed older than the others but every bit as friendly.
As the plenary session, as the moderators called it, came to an end, they explained that the seventy-two candidates would split up into six teams of a dozen each and meet with their supervisors. They instructed the candidates to look at the Identity Sheet in their packet, where there would be a bold number from 1 to 6. They should exit the auditorium and go to the numbered conference rooms across the hall and gather as teams with their supervisors.
He explained that only a very few of the candidates had been hired, due to pre-existing, rare language skills, with a specific foreign country in mind. However, most would need to learn a language (or expand their skills) in just a short while. Therefore, the assigning of candidates to prospective Embassies and, therefore language learning, was the very first order of business.
Trixie listened in awe to the man’s language fluency. Would she ever learn to speak a foreign language?
Brian instructed the candidates to take a sheet from their bag with the title, 'Consular Location Preferences.' On the sheet was a listing of the foreign countries with openings for graduates. In the case of the larger countries, there were individual cities listed. The candidates were instructed to mark their top five choices in order. Walters explained that the assignments would be made based on their travel and cultural study experience, preferences, and suitability based on their record coming in.
The top candidates in the auditorium, with outstanding records from the top colleges and extensive travel and language study, set their sights on the widely-desired foreign Embassies in important countries with posh Capitals, such as Berlin, Rome, Paris, Tokyo, Beijing, Moscow, and, of course, everyone's dream post, the Court of St James's.
Trixie, meanwhile, was thrilled with the prospect of any foreign assignment. After growing up in Branchwater, living in such places would be like a trip to the Moon! Therefore, she decided to check off some of the smaller and less well-known locations.
After they turned in their sheets, other moderators explained the detailed points of the upcoming seven weeks of accelerated training. The candidates would live in a government dormitory in nearby Falls Church, where breakfast and dinner were provided, and shuttle buses would transport them back and forth to the Institute six days a week, with Sundays off. The candidates were responsible for buying their own lunch in the cafeteria and any sundry expenses. Since they were not State Department employees, they received no pay until they had earned their certificates. Technically, they were unpaid interns for the next seven weeks. However, they were given $10 per diem expense allowance. Trixie listened closely and feverishly took notes.
Then a tall, commanding man was introduced as Daniel Bennett Smith, Director of the Institute. As he reviewed his career and the importance of training at the Institute, Trixie was very impressed at his bearing and knowledge. [Later, after the time of our story, he would serve for six days as acting Secretary of State in January 2021, during the Presidential Transition].
Smith then made a big deal of introducing the six Training Supervisors. He stressed to the candidates that these were the most important persons during their induction training at the Institute. “Your efforts will succeed or fail based on how you work with these individuals. I can tell you that they are the ‘best of the best.’ Trust them. They will get you through!”
He explained further that they were not the instructors, but their role was to track the candidates' progress and give them any help needed to complete the course. Over and over, the Director emphasized that the supervisors were not there to judge but to do everything they could to help as many as possible to complete the program successfully. Trixie had a warm feeling as she began to think of these supervisors as similar to Dr. Sullivan. There were four women and two men. All spoke briefly, and all came across as very enthusiastic and supportive. Trixie was especially drawn to two of the women who reminded her of her mentor. She said a quiet prayer to be assigned to one of them. The two men were equally enthusiastic, but Trixie wasn't used to a male mentor. And, unfortunately, one seemed grossly overweight. She tried to suppress the unfair bias against him. He seemed older than the others but every bit as friendly.
As the plenary session, as the moderators called it, came to an end, they explained that the seventy-two candidates would split up into six teams of a dozen each and meet with their supervisors. They instructed the candidates to look at the Identity Sheet in their packet, where there would be a bold number from 1 to 6. They should exit the auditorium and go to the numbered conference rooms across the hall and gather as teams with their supervisors.
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Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Grossly overweight male mentor incoming for Trix no doubt ...
