coffee table. I
wanted to lecture her about underage drinking but didn’t want to set her off again. Besides, it wasn’t that big of a deal,
was it? I mean, I drank when I was sixteen. Maybe not on Sunday afternoons, but still . . .
I guess I didn’t blame her for wanting to check out of reality. My parents’ marriage had broken up, and besides passing P.S.
e-mails inquiring about her weight and school attendance, neither seemed interested in how she felt about the matter. I’d
probably react the same way if I were her. Poor kid.
I closed Dad’s e-mail without responding and turned to the one from the promotions department. I knew from experience this
one ought to be good.
Hi Maddy,
It’s Ron, your favorite Promo Boy! Here’s what we decided on for the promo for “Cosmetics That Kill.”
LURKING IN YOUR MEDICINE CABINET THEY SEEM INNOCENT . . .
HARMLESS.
BUT YOUR COSMETICS . . .
CAN ACTUALLY KILL YOU!
TERRANCE TELLS ALL, TONIGHT AT ELEVEN.
What do you think? Awesome, huh?
Ron
“Ugh” seemed the appropriate response. Nothing like a bad promo to ruin your day. Now I had to go argue with the promotions
producer and beg him to change the promo to something that remotely resembled the story itself.
I picked up the phone. It’d take way too long to respond by e-mail.
“Ron speaking.”
“Yeah, hi Ron. It’s Maddy down in Special Projects. About that promo you e-mailed me . . .”
“Isn’t it great? I showed everyone up here and we all agree it’s one of our best promos ever.”
“Um, yeah. Very catchy. But you see, the thing is, it’s not exactly true.”
“True?”
Of course. The word was a foreign phrase to the promos department. Actually, to the whole newsroom if it came to that.
“Yeah. As in, cosmetics don’t actually kill you.”
“Of course they don’t actually kill me . I’m a guy. I don’t wear cosmetics. By ‘you,’ we mean the viewer. The twenty-four- to fifty-five-year-old soccer mom we
call Abby who has two point four kids, a white picket fence and a ton of disposable income.”
I took a deep breath. “Right. But they don’t actually kill Abby either.”
“Hmm. Do they kill people who watch other stations besides News Nine? We might be able to work that in.”
“Uh, no. Sorry. The story is basically how certain lipsticks that contain lead may lead to brain damage to unborn babies.”
“Unborn babies can be considered viewers, ” Ron said defensively.
I grimaced. “They can’t view. They’re blocked by a wall of mommy flesh.”
I could hear Ron’s annoyed sigh on the other end of the phone line. “Since when did you get so technical? I showed the promo
to my boss Chris and he loved it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the promo. Except that what it says is not true.” I couldn’t believe I had to argue this point.
“Yeah, well, it took a day and a half to come up with this. We’re editing tomorrow and I have no time to rewrite my entire
promo just because of some technicality, ” he said in a huff.
It took him a day and a half to come up with five lines? It took me about an hour to write a four-page script. Promo producers
had the best jobs in the world. I envisioned them having wild parties in their fourth-floor offices, laughing at the rest
of the newsroom, who actually had to work. When an order came up for a promo they scribbled something out that took five minutes
and then resumed the party.
“Look, ” Ron said. “How about this? We change the line ‘your cosmetics can actually kill you!’ to ‘can your cosmetics actually
kill you?’ with a question mark. That way if anyone says anything you can say it was a question not a statement and that the
answer to the question happens to be no.”
I wondered if Newsline producers had to put up with this kind of bullshit.
“Fine. Whatever. Thanks, Ron.” I got off the phone quickly, my heart no longer into fighting the good fight. Why did I even
care? In
wanted to lecture her about underage drinking but didn’t want to set her off again. Besides, it wasn’t that big of a deal,
was it? I mean, I drank when I was sixteen. Maybe not on Sunday afternoons, but still . . .
I guess I didn’t blame her for wanting to check out of reality. My parents’ marriage had broken up, and besides passing P.S.
e-mails inquiring about her weight and school attendance, neither seemed interested in how she felt about the matter. I’d
probably react the same way if I were her. Poor kid.
I closed Dad’s e-mail without responding and turned to the one from the promotions department. I knew from experience this
one ought to be good.
Hi Maddy,
It’s Ron, your favorite Promo Boy! Here’s what we decided on for the promo for “Cosmetics That Kill.”
LURKING IN YOUR MEDICINE CABINET THEY SEEM INNOCENT . . .
HARMLESS.
BUT YOUR COSMETICS . . .
CAN ACTUALLY KILL YOU!
TERRANCE TELLS ALL, TONIGHT AT ELEVEN.
What do you think? Awesome, huh?
Ron
“Ugh” seemed the appropriate response. Nothing like a bad promo to ruin your day. Now I had to go argue with the promotions
producer and beg him to change the promo to something that remotely resembled the story itself.
I picked up the phone. It’d take way too long to respond by e-mail.
“Ron speaking.”
“Yeah, hi Ron. It’s Maddy down in Special Projects. About that promo you e-mailed me . . .”
“Isn’t it great? I showed everyone up here and we all agree it’s one of our best promos ever.”
“Um, yeah. Very catchy. But you see, the thing is, it’s not exactly true.”
“True?”
Of course. The word was a foreign phrase to the promos department. Actually, to the whole newsroom if it came to that.
“Yeah. As in, cosmetics don’t actually kill you.”
“Of course they don’t actually kill me . I’m a guy. I don’t wear cosmetics. By ‘you,’ we mean the viewer. The twenty-four- to fifty-five-year-old soccer mom we
call Abby who has two point four kids, a white picket fence and a ton of disposable income.”
I took a deep breath. “Right. But they don’t actually kill Abby either.”
“Hmm. Do they kill people who watch other stations besides News Nine? We might be able to work that in.”
“Uh, no. Sorry. The story is basically how certain lipsticks that contain lead may lead to brain damage to unborn babies.”
“Unborn babies can be considered viewers, ” Ron said defensively.
I grimaced. “They can’t view. They’re blocked by a wall of mommy flesh.”
I could hear Ron’s annoyed sigh on the other end of the phone line. “Since when did you get so technical? I showed the promo
to my boss Chris and he loved it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the promo. Except that what it says is not true.” I couldn’t believe I had to argue this point.
“Yeah, well, it took a day and a half to come up with this. We’re editing tomorrow and I have no time to rewrite my entire
promo just because of some technicality, ” he said in a huff.
It took him a day and a half to come up with five lines? It took me about an hour to write a four-page script. Promo producers
had the best jobs in the world. I envisioned them having wild parties in their fourth-floor offices, laughing at the rest
of the newsroom, who actually had to work. When an order came up for a promo they scribbled something out that took five minutes
and then resumed the party.
“Look, ” Ron said. “How about this? We change the line ‘your cosmetics can actually kill you!’ to ‘can your cosmetics actually
kill you?’ with a question mark. That way if anyone says anything you can say it was a question not a statement and that the
answer to the question happens to be no.”
I wondered if Newsline producers had to put up with this kind of bullshit.
“Fine. Whatever. Thanks, Ron.” I got off the phone quickly, my heart no longer into fighting the good fight. Why did I even
care? In
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