Ellie Chen, thirty-eight and perpetually flustered, clutched her battered suitcase as she stumbled out of the immigration office. The air in Washington D.C. felt… crisper than she'd expected. Also louder. Much, much louder. Back home in Xanadu, even the busiest market sounded like a library compared to this symphony of honking cars and shouting people.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. This whole trip was a mistake. A glorious, catastrophic, impulse decision born from a late-night chat with her Aunt Mei, who'd insisted a "change of scenery" was exactly what Ellie needed after… well, after everything. The scenery change, however, involved a flight she'd nearly missed, a visa application that seemed to have materialized out of thin air (and a very persistent travel agent), and now, the bewildering realization that she was officially, irrevocably, in the Most Powerful Nation on Earth. With no job, no plan, and barely enough English to order a cup of tea without inciting an international incident.
"Next!" a gruff voice boomed, startling her out of her daze.
She shuffled forward, clutching a flimsy piece of paper that, according to the kind (if bewildered) immigration officer, was her temporary work permit. It was for a "government services position." She'd imagined something quiet, perhaps watering plants in a federal building or sorting mail. Something where her unique talent for minor-yet-monumental mishaps wouldn't attract undue attention.
"You speak English, right, Miss Chen?" the next official, a harried woman with a severe bun, asked.
Ellie beamed. "Yes! Very good! Much good!" She'd practiced that phrase for weeks.
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Right. Well, your placement is... unique. You'll need to report here, bright and early tomorrow." She handed Ellie a crisp, white envelope. On it, in elegant script, were the words: THE WHITE HOUSE.
Ellie blinked. The White House. Like, the White House? The one with the President? The one she'd seen on TV, usually in dramatic news reports involving Very Important Meetings?
Her mind, prone to dramatic flights of fancy, immediately conjured images of scrubbing historical monuments with a toothbrush. Or perhaps polishing the President's shoes. This was certainly a change of scenery. A rather terrifying one.
"Uh, okay," Ellie managed, her voice a reedy squeak. "Is... is that for cleaning? Like, floors?"
The official just gave her a tired look. "Just report, Miss Chen. They'll brief you."
Ellie walked out into the D.C. afternoon, the envelope clutched in her hand like a winning lottery ticket, or perhaps a summons to the principal's office. She, Eleanor Chen, from a small, unassuming town in Xanadu, was going to work at the White House. This was either the beginning of a grand adventure or a very public, very embarrassing deportation. Probably the latter.