Rambling Rhodes: When The Media Makes Excuses. . .

January 11, 2006

When The Media Makes Excuses. . .

They try to be so cute and creative about it.

Hey, let me try!

Playwright's note: This a work of fiction.
(The scene: a bedroom in an American starter home, circa 2006. The pale light suggests a January morning. There is no movement; the bed is disheveled and heaped with blankets. On the bedside table, a telephone rings 10 times, then stops. It begins to ring again, and a hand emerges from the pile of blankets to pick it up, knocking over an empty bottle of Karkov Vodka in the process.)

VOICE FROM BLANKETS: Hello?

VOICE ON PHONE: Coleman! That you?

(The bedding erupts as a startled moron recognizes the voice of his boss and bolts upright. He is NICK COLEMAN, an earnest old codger who has slept in his glasses and Depends.)

COLEMAN: Yes, yes, this is Coleman. Is that you, Chief?

CHIEF: Don't call me Chief! Listen, Coleman, and listen good, because you're in the soup and my hand's on the gas.

COLEMAN: Did I do something wrong? Again?

CHIEF: Wrong? Something? Did you? I swear to heaven, if you weren't in the union I'd be playing kick the can with your head right now! Turn on the news!

COLEMAN: I don't have a TV yet. I have a HAM radio. And some soup cans attached by a string.

CHIEF: Figures. Look, you sniveling forgery, I put my trust in you. I left you in charge last night. You wanna know when I'll do that again? Sometime after I retire and die!

COLEMAN: I did something wrong. I can sense it. I know stuff. I'm nobody's monkey.

CHIEF: Well, that's good, because you sure didn't see it on the wires, you dumb monkey. Evidently you don't look at the wires.

COLEMAN: Of course I do! What's this about?

CHIEF: There was a major development last night. In a front-page story. You missed it.

COLEMAN: Oh, no. Was there a fight outside the hockey game? Did something happen to the poor?

CHIEF: Bigger than that.

COLEMAN: Don't tell me something happened with the miners. Or the poor.

(Playwright's reminder: Remember, this is fiction.)

CHIEF: Hello? Yes, the miners!

COLEMAN: Those poor men. ... And the poor poor.

CHIEF: Hey, look at that, it's not even 9 a.m. and you're wrong already. No, bean brain! They're alive!

COLEMAN: What? That's wonderful! But what about the poor?

CHIEF: Wonderful for them, not so wonderful for you. Did you or did you not see a bulletin at 11 p.m.? Two! Hours! Before! Your! Shift! Ended! More important, why did you leave after your shift ended when you knew full well this was still a developing story, you meathad?

COLEMAN: Oh, well. Yes, I saw that. The details were sketchy. No confirmation from the mining company.

CHIEF: No confirmation? They had it from the families!

COLEMAN: Unreliable. I prefer to talk to random people on the street for confirmation.

CHIEF: And a member of Congress!

COLEMAN: Could have been K Street talking. You can't trust those fat cats. But, the random phone call or e-mail in praise of me? That's unimpeachable, because I don't get 'em very often.

CHIEF: And the governor! The governor announced it!

COLEMAN: Pawlenty's a stooge. A fat cat stooge. I don't believe anything any government official says, except for my brother. Besides, I just thought it was strange that we weren't hearing anything from the mining company.

CHIEF: It never occurred to you that the mine bosses might have been thinking about something else -- like how to keep from losing their shirts to lawsuits by 12 angry men?

COLEMAN: I was mainly thinking that it would be irresponsible of me to get anybody's hopes up. So, I decided to go home, drown my guilty sorrows in screwdrivers, possibly masturbate to the the J.C. Penny catalogue undewear section, and then pass out.

CHIEF: Ah. I see. So much better to be the one paper in three time zones to miss the good-news story of the century. And I love the photos of laughing survivors holding up our headline, MINERS STILL MISSING. Priceless.

COLEMAN: The one paper? You mean everybody else gambled that the families and the governor were correct? Those monkeys.

CHIEF: Yep. I suppose we should be grateful you weren't on the desk when Apollo 13 splashed down or the Shackleton Expedition got home.

COLEMAN: OK, OK. I'll try to do better, if you give me a chance. But ... do I still have a job?

CHIEF: Are you kidding? We couldn't fire you if you were caught doinking a 12 year old boy on the copy desk. If we haven't fired you by now, chances are you'll have a job here until the Rapture.

(Blackout.)

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Posted by Ryan at January 11, 2006 11:33 PM | TrackBack

Comments

LOL. Oh my God, are you crazy!

Posted by: desult at January 12, 2006 09:24 PM