Resolute Desk vs. The Snot Ball

 The White House’s Oval Office is home to a legendary piece of furniture—the Resolute Desk. Its name exudes such authority that it seems less like a desk and more like a president itself. While some call it the Hayes Desk, after President Rutherford B. Hayes, it has actually witnessed and endured more presidents than Hayes ever could.

This desk was a gift from Queen Victoria to President Hayes in 1880. Now, to the Indian mind, the idea of a benevolent queen seems suspicious—queens, after all, are rarely so generous. The truth is, this desk wasn’t bought from a fancy furniture store; it was crafted from the wood of HMS Resolute, a British exploration ship that got stuck in Arctic ice in 1854 and was abandoned.

America saw this as an opportunity for goodwill. They salvaged the stranded ship, repaired it, and returned it to Britain in 1856. The British, unused to such gestures, got emotional. When they decommissioned the ship in 1879, they repurposed its wood to craft three desks, one of which they sent to the U.S. as a symbolic ‘return gift’—a piece of the ship that had once made its way back home.

The Americans, recognizing its historical significance, placed the desk in the Oval Office. Presidents came and went, but the desk remained steadfast. In 1945, a kneehole was carved into it so presidents could sit more comfortably—after all, dignity should not come at the cost of convenience. In 1961, the desk was raised by two inches—perhaps to give presidents a slight height boost.

Fast forward to recent years, and we arrive at an amusing incident involving the world’s richest man, Elon Musk. During a high-profile press conference in the Oval Office, Musk arrived with his signature “family package”—his kids and their nanny. What he said during the event was secondary; the real star of the show was his young son, ‘X’. The child climbed on Musk’s shoulders, crawled under the Resolute Desk, and then, in an unexpected twist, silenced then-President Donald Trump by declaring, “Shut up!” As if that weren’t enough, the toddler went on to dismiss the president himself, announcing, “You are not the president!”

This wasn’t just a childish outburst—it was a prophecy. Children, after all, have an uncanny sense of what the future holds.

Before leaving, young X left behind a mark of his presence—an innocent yet impactful deposit: a snot ball, stuck to the historic Resolute Desk. If anything, this was a sign of the desk’s continued relevance. This desk had journeyed across the sea, spent time in London, and then become the pride of the Oval Office. Now, it had gained another badge of honor—an organic, albeit sticky, contribution to history.

One can only imagine Trump’s reaction. It’s easy to picture him summoning an aide to wipe it off, perhaps even ordering a full sanitization of the desk. But when lunchtime rolled around and he sat at the desk to eat, his eyes must have drifted to that exact spot. Appetite lost, he likely shut his lunchbox, sighed, and decided to fast for the day.

As the weeks passed and a few pounds were shed, Trump ultimately made the drastic decision to remove the desk altogether. It was either sent for repairs, polished anew, or perhaps even locked up and shipped back to London—who knows with Trump, anything is possible!

But let’s take a step back and ask: was a tiny snot ball really that big of a deal? If so, then every school desk in India should be discarded immediately. And not just school desks—office desks, bus windows, airplane seats, and even parliamentary benches should all be removed. Because let’s face it—wherever you look, a snot ball is likely lurking. Some even consider it a tradition.

This ‘tradition’ of leaving one’s mark isn’t entirely unnecessary. Just as our ancestors left cave paintings, today’s youth leave behind their own little imprints—sometimes in ways we don’t quite appreciate. It’s a subtle, yet undeniable form of art.

Perhaps Trump forgot his own childhood, a time when he too must have stuck something onto a desk. Maybe power has a way of erasing such memories. But removing the Resolute Desk entirely—was that really necessary? Was he afraid that one small snot ball could diminish his power? Did he think it might stain his political career? Or did he fear that, long after his presidency, that little mark would still remain, a silent reminder that power is fleeting—but snot is eternal?

My suggestion? All historical desks should be coated with a special protective layer—a snot-resistant finish! That way, future presidents, prime ministers, officials, and citizens can continue to use them without worrying about unexpected ‘contributions’ from mischievous visitors.

- Viveck Tewari