While at a hotel in Philadelphia several weeks ago, I was surprised by Hillary Clinton. She was not the robot I’d come to expect.. As I rode the elevator next to her, I couldn’t help but glance her way. Though she seemed weak from her apparent pneumonia and her face was more weathered than I’d remembered, there was a twinkle in her eyes as she said hello to me.

Floor after floor, her perfume wafting towards me, I felt as if she was trying to say something to me, a die-hard Republican. She coughed flirtatiously several times. Just as the elevator stopped on my floor, I thought I saw her checking me out as I held my Wall Street Journal near my loins. Something had caught her eye, and I figured it was my $4000 suit, tailored to fit me perfectly...everywhere. And then, just as we were about to part forever, she said it: “I wish I could convince people I really want to help them.”

She didn’t tell me my suit would look good on the floor next to her bed or that I reminded her of a movie star like oh-so-many women do. Instead, she was responding to an op-ed in my newspaper. And her words touched me inappropriately. She is a Clinton who coined the failed vast right wing conspiracy; now part of the vast left wing conspiracy. Could she really care about people? Even if it was a ruse, could she really care about what I think in order to pretend just for me? I wanted her to stop. I could not bring myself to say no, but she could tell I was uncomfortable. “Make sure you vote,” she said, knowing full-well that she had grabbed me just a bit too roughly. Me, retracing each line on her face as I exited to the hallway, feeling dirty for hearing her and believing her.

Could this woman who I have compared to the devil in multiple Tweets really care about me? Or was I just a prop, used to fulfill some kind of sick fantasy? I know she won’t return my calls, so I don’t bother, but I also will never be the same again. No amount of time will be able to heal my wounds. However, my new BMW Alpina B7 will help me to move on.

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