Author's Note: I've been creating "Suzanne," an original NCIS character to introduce for the past two, three years. While I have introduced loyal readers to many dimensions and interactions with Suzanne in the NCIS family (which I thank CBS productions for allowing), I feel as if I need as a writer to establish more depth into the character. What makes Suzanne the well-grounded individual at work? I believe it is her upbringing, which I will integrate from time to time as the inspiration hits me. Based on the popularity for the stories September Song and Always on the Run on Fan Fiction, I decided to work on the "Book of McNamara." Granted, Gibbs has his rules, inspired mainly by Shannon. Suzanne's code has many layers, and like Gibbs, she follows the ideologies.
Suzanne Gibbs, relatively new to the White House staff after three weeks, established her own philosophical ways regarding workplace camaraderie. Always remain approachable; that is the golden rule, she wholeheartedly followed. Early mornings were similiar. Suzanne smiled, greeted everyone from security, housekeeping, and especially craft services a heart-felt "Good Morning!" 5 AM. Only Gibbs was happy!
Third and first shift became accustomed for the ingenious ways Suzanne surprised others—parking in further designated spots and arriving hours earlier than the arrival time. The staff posed the 30 year old as no threat—just outgoing and helpful.
"Just helping out, Gentlemen…" She extended her arms, removed her shoes and opened every zipped compartment of her backpack. Every morning SOP: check in. Everyone gets screened at the White House, including the Presidential Assistant.
The standard lanyard she never wore during early mornings. The guards knew exactly where it was stored—left side pocket of her back pack. She arrived in sweat clothing—always black bottoms and a Georgetown t-shirt. She wore a thick hooded sweat jacket, always opened, upon the entrance and carried her black skull cap in hand. The workbag was basically her work-related items: tablet device, a set of headphones, and her small purse with a wallet-driver's license, her credentials as a lawyer for the Commonwealth of Virginia, and a picture of Jethro and other pictures of her nephews.
"Where's your go-bag, Gibbs?" An officer asked. There were specific times Suzanne carried extra clothing, her work clothing inside a garment bag.
"Inside." Suzanne answered. "Brought it the other day—a dress, two pairs of pants, belt, a turtleneck, and a pair of flat shoes?" She reminded the officers. "It was checked Friday morning and approved for storage in the EOP closet?" Her outfits were generally stored in the office area; it was a small space for Suzanne to store personal items, such as her clothing.
"Keep a copy of the approval tag for your travel items, okay?" The senior officer nodded. "When you do PT with the President, you can bring all your gear without problems."
"Thanks, Gentlemen…" Suzanne jogged into the distance, heading for the kitchen entrance.
'All available: staff member Sierra Golf, female, is on premises. Again, Sierra Golf, female, on premises approaching craft services.'
Suzanne entered through the kitchen many mornings, slipping on the hairnet and holding conversations with craft service employees.
"I already know Hans would pitch a fit if I walked in here…" The employees greeted and laughed as she tied on an apron, placed her backpack near the service elevator.
"What you need, Hansie?" Only Suzanne got away with calling the Executive Chef "Hansie."
New employees often associated her as a service employee herself as she stirred, whipped and stocked trays for morning conferences.
"How about starting the bacon?" He twirled four dozen racks that needed placement and cooking. "We're cooking for the Congressional breakfast this morning."
"Good…" Suzanne opened the packages on the stainless steel table. "We're talking about healthcare, and we can kill them with pork and grease. Serves them right." A slight gush of laughter filled the room.
The people asked in curiosity who was the smart-mouthed new hire. The 'old-heads' laughed, enjoying the energetic company.
'That's the President's Assistant, Suzanne. She is funny.' An older gentleman introduced her to a younger crew. "She's really one of us."
"What are you doing here so early?"
"What? Like I'm too good to be down here?!" She scoffed. "This is what I did before I went upstairs. Did this while I was at Georgetown—worked 4 to 4 splits-Mondays and Wednesdays, went to class right after work!" The line groaned, completely sympathetic with that schedule. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays: 6 to 2…" She laid the bacon on the racks. The job was completed.
"Oh, to answer your question…I do PT with the President at 6 AM."
"So how did you have a social life with a schedule like that?"
"I didn't." The kitchen laughed. "How can you when you work and study all the damn time?" Suzanne smiled, laughed along. "I started dating my husband last year; we got married two months ago."
"Thanks for helping out today, Suzanne." The line cooks shook her hand.
"Hey, my pleasure." She smiled. "Make sure to use plenty of salt in the eggs this morning."
Roy finished polishing the silver and prepared the trays for the President's library and the West Wing entrance.
"Listen, I can take this and do set up." Suzanne volunteered. She glanced at the bustling kitchen at 5 in the morning. "You've got your hands full."
"Suzanne, I appreciate it."
"Oh, I appreciate you." She smiled. Suzanne waved goodbye as she and the cart rode the service elevator.
Suzanne's prior experience was quick and easy setups with cloth napkins, carafes, creamers, and fine china. With several moments to spare, she dressed the West Wing table, noticing the time 5:45. Suzanne stepped back proudly, looked at her handiwork with pride.
'Heh. I need to tell Roy about the technique…' she thought of an idea. "Pre-stack the cups underneath; stack the saucers in rows…it'll save at least 15 minutes a day…" Several junior staffers arrived before 6 AM, anxious for the coffee and dessert tray to open. One bawled loudly how it should be ready by the time they arrive."
"I swear those people get lazier and lazier…"
Suzanne chuckled and shook her head in disgust. Still. She continued in her own pace to finish the set up. Four minutes passed and finally, she completed the table, ready to serve.
"Good Morning!" Suzanne greeted with a friendly smile.
"Well, it's about time!" The staffer reached over Suzanne, poured her cup of coffee. "I mean, what took you so long?"
"I'm new to this building."
"You truly need to learn your job description, Miss, if you plan to continue working here."
Suzanne laughed and continued working.
Roy came upstairs by service elevator with desserts and pastries, overheard the last comment.
"Roy, you need to get your new hires straight." From promptness to the attire and certain 'that attitude, the only thing left Suzanne could do was chuckle and shake her head, looking at Roy.
"Boy, they're so lucky I wear a Cross…" She twirled the necklace from the inside to the outside of her shirt. Softly, she hummed a melody while inside her head, the debate 'should I, shouldn't I, raged. No need. Promptly, the President and the Service staff arrived moments after 6 AM.
"Good Morning, Mr. President."
"Morning, Troop." He greeted, playfully slapping Suzanne on the back. "Still teaching Roy your foldable trick? He's not going to do it!"
"Credentials, Sir?" Suzanne walked into the office, grabbing her I-Pad and skull-cap before securing her backpack.
"You're rolling with me, Troop!" He grinned. "Let's go!" The conversation between Suzanne and the President continued as they walked away.
"I'm going to begin with '40' by U2 as my warm-up song, about 4 minutes long…"
"Feeling a 'Psalmy' today?"
"Philosophical…" Suzanne answered. "Thought about something my late dad instilled in my spirit…"
"Ladies…" Roy interrupted. "You need to learn who you work for." Quickly, he pointed at Suzanne's desk, directly beside the Office of the President. "That was Suzanne Gibbs from the Executive Office of the President; your supervisor."
Embarrassed, the two walked over to the workspace. The name placket was ordered, but definitively, it was her workspace. In Times New Roman bold print, it read on her message board the Psalm she referenced. It was well-worn but recently laminated. A small cross was pinned; above were the words: 'Cardinal Direction."
Psalm 40
I waited patiently for the Lord
And He inclined to me and heard my cry
He brought me up out of the pit of destruction
Out of the miry clay
And He set my feet upon a rock, making my footsteps firm
He put a new song in my mouth
A song of praise to our God
Many will see and fear and will trust in the Lord.