Trump strutted into the UN expecting another golden escalator moment, only to find the escalator grinding to a halt under him. Staff said it was a “safety mechanism.” Sure. That safety being their own from having to watch him sweat through his suit. Forced to climb actual stairs, Trump looked like a man reenacting D-Day one step at a time. Delegates whispered wagers on whether he’d make it past the second landing before gasping for an EMT. Somewhere between floor three and floor four, the great negotiator was busy negotiating with his left arm not to stroke out. The UN didn’t just turn off the escalator—they turned his arteries into international observers.
We See What Others Cannot