“What makes you think you’re so special?”

Oh, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie.

Yeah, we’ve got (yet another) political scandal going on. This one’s the head of our City Council, Oliver Thomas. The particularly sad thing is that one of the few bodies actually working on anything is the City Council.

But now Oliver’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. This particular cookie jar turns out to be owned our previous mayor, Marc Morial- and it’s just amazing just how many of his old cronies have been caught taking a nibble or two.

Marc himself would like everyone to believe he’s on Atkins and never snuck a bite for himself thanks to his own awesome willpower, but there still seem to be an awful lot of crumbs on his lapels.

Okay, that analogy got a little tortured. Back to Ollie.

He’s been quite popular, starting out representing my own little District B before moving on to Council-at-Large and all around big cheese. I dunno, maybe he’s done good things, but he made a really bad first impression on me and I’ve never quite forgiven him.

Way back in 2002, when we were going through the approval process on the house renovations we needed 2 variances. Our neighborhood is classified as a Historic District, so it was a multi-stage process. I had to do everything but file a toilet-flushing schedule so they’d know we weren’t deviating from the accepted bathroom norms of 1885. (Yes, I know there weren’t flushing toilet then. If they could’ve made me put up an outhouse they would’ve.)

We wanted to add 17 feet on the house, and I wanted a kitchen window seat. The addition they gave us no problem. My window seat ended up taking 4 hearings with the Historic District people, and 2 in front of the City Council. Two of those meetings had me sitting around for hours until it was decided that Mr. Thomas wasn’t going to grace us with his presence, and no quorum would be possible.

When, after many hours of sitting in chambers it was my turn to be called during one of these meetings, I went up to the podium with my architect, Harvey, and he read out what we were asking for. There were photographs showing it wouldn’t even be visible from the street. There were architectural drawings. There was a certified letter of general approval from the supreme being.

Oliver looks at all this, leans back in his expensive swivel chair, tenting his fingers on his over-inflated chest, and sneers, “So what makes you think you’re so special? We have these regulations and requirements on the books for a reason. Why should you get special treatment?”

He raised his eyebrows at me, snottily awaiting a response. Harvey grabbed my wrist. Hard. He knew all too well I was likely to provide a response, and although it likely would make me feel better briefly, it wouldn’t really help the cause.

Harvey calmly, respectfully, goes on to explain why this isn’t atypical, etc etc. Ultimately (though not at that particular meeting) I got approval. But every time I see Ollie, I think about what he said.

So now I feel justified in turning the tables. Oliver Thomas, what makes you so special? What makes you think you can just take whatever you want when there are so many people out here just making due? Oh, and all those rules and regulations that are there for a reason? I hope they use every damn one of them against you.

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