Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a cheap psuedo-Hollywood ripoff of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, only if it was written by Matt Walsh and directed by Lars Von Trier. Perhaps, in this alternate universe, the Maitre D’s phone call with Cameron’s “Sgt. Peterson” goes something like this:

Mr. Froman, this is Sgt. Peterson, Chicago Police.
Oh…Well, what can I do for you, officer?
Mr. Froman, would you like to take part in a preliminary survey concerning Patriotic Potential?
Well, I’m potentially patriotic; what are the questions?
Mr. Froman, have you ever picked your nose and stuck the booger beneath the restaurant table?
Well, I–I don’t see how anyone could have seen–
Mr. Froman. Have you ever made love to a woman and felt the primal urge to howl?
Really, Sgt., I think that something best kept–.
Mr. Froman. Have you ever thrown a container of leftover pasta in the trash instead of washing it out in accordance with modern recycling standards?
Hey, I’m not the one who poured millions of gallons of oil into the Gulf of Mexico.
Mr. Froman. Did you just intentionally deadname the Gulf of America?
What? No. No, I didn’t say that.
Mr. Froman. We in the administration find gaslighting in the taste of the poor.
You mean, “in poor taste?”
Mr. Froman. We in the administration find precise language the bread and butter of any healthy democracy.
Which is good, since you took school lunches away from children.
Mr. Froman, we in the administration find snarky backtalk very much in the taste of the poor.
Fine, look, just, throw that questionnaire out. I’ve changed my mind.
Mr. Froman. We in the administration honor consent as the backbone of any healthy interaction.
So, you’ll delete it?
Mr. Froman. We in the administration honor transparency above all else…so, no.