The weather reporter stood in front of the camera crew.
She stood in front of the nation.
Only a few seconds had passed but it felt like an eternity.
‘No more’, she thought. ‘No pissing more’.
This was not to be Dog Day Afternoon. This was not going to be a Network moment. Yes, Joaquin’s Joker had looked great in the suit, but no, she was not going to kill herself on live TV.
She was annoyed...true, this was indeed the final straw.
The bosses were sitting in the glass booth. She could see that they were screaming and spitting.
The flecks were catching on the windows like horrible Pollock’s of phlegm...a disgusting reminder of the current state of play.
The auto-cue trailed, ‘highs of 17 and lows of 10 degrees Celsius’.
The reporter remembered her younger days. She had been carefree and optimistic. These days, after endlessly churning out the same drivel day after day, her will had been broken and her spirit had been crushed.
She recalled the day when she discovered the awful secret. She sicked up a little in her mouth remembering the snaky seas she had had to navigate to even get here. The letches, the bad breath, the awful cologne, the false promises and the horrible lies.
But for years she had stood on the soundstage, propped up in front of the greenscreen, guiding the viewers through pretty much the same images show after show, bulletin after bulletin.
She remembered first coming to the broadcasting house and being amazed at the hustle and the bustle, the snap and the flow.
The lights.
The cameras.
The action.
The auto-cue continued to trail ‘high pressure fronts from the east...’
She remembered why she had wanted to even do this in the first place. They had all looked so glamorous and intelligent. They had looked so warm and welcoming.
It was not until, roughly her first year in that she had picked up on the pattern.
That there had been essentially 16 variants of the same script. Minor details would change here and there. Wind speed. Total rain fall.
A degree here.
A degree there.
All degrees of separation.
The camera’s recording light blinked red for the zillionth time.
The execs were like gorillas in a cage. Veins throbbing. Chests pounding. Cholesterol car crashes waiting to happen.
The reporter closed her eyes. Took one last breath.
“Good morning viewers....today’s weather report is.....complete and utter bullshit.”
CUT TO COMMERCIAL.
