When strolling down memory lane, it’s always tempting to spackle on a layer of retroactive dignity. As I considered my good fortune, John F. Kennedy’s words echoed through my heart. “Ask not what your country can do for you,” I told myself, thanking God for the gift of freedom. Nonsense. I rushed back to my apartment, ripped off my suit, and jumped up and down in my underwear. I fist-pumped. I hollered the word holy, followed by every obscenity I knew. Then I immediately started calling people.
