22) Sunday Evening,
February 9th – Serious Men in White Shirts!
In Purley,
Miz Lottie Soames swore by the liberal station – from
its less than accurate weather forecasters all the way downslope
to its network sports commentators; its tousled boy-toy anchor Ted Fraser and
the distinguished Evan Augsberg holding her trust as
tightly as she held the remote so that, once the Capitol moon was high in the
sky and halftime rolled around, Westy surrendered
control of the channel to her, one of those deals that kept the large,
querulous family from exploding. The
Skins were holding tough – two interceptions of Goff (the last in the Rams’ red
zone), three long field goals and a blocked punt had sufficed to pull
Washington to within 28-23 in a shootout.
Now, as one of the damn cats rubbed his shinbone, he pleaded…
“OK…
it’s a… a cold cream commercial… you promised I could just look…”
“It’s
cold,” Lottie snapped, “and I like
cream…”
“Not
that kind of cream… look, it’s over,” General Westmoreland Soames pointed, “now
it’s that lawyer drummin’ up business, that one you
said you didn’t trust…”
Miz Lottie glowerered, but
clicked… that lawyer did have shifty eyes.
No good! The cable station showed a circle of Wizards huddled angrily
round their coach with the NBA score crawl showing a twelve point deficit
already, then cut to the same cold cream commercial. Resolutely, she clicked back to news with
Fraser and Dru Capehart…”
“Satisfied? Now hush up and learn somethin’…”
“Didn’t
even show the time,” an aggrieved Westy muttered,
“…the score…”
Ted
Fraser shuffled the papers in his fists… as if the anchorman was, on his own,
making spot decisions as to what and what was not newsworthy. “In other news, tonight’s the night… all you
out there in TV-land who haven’t upgraded to modulated ultra high digital
technology, you’re headed for a nasty surprise in less than twelve days now…”
“That’s
right, Ted,” back-bencher Dru added, “and controversy
still swirls around the transition, as it has almost from the first since
President Rivers confirmed the speed-up of change-over despite the untimely
terrorism-related deaths of our Vice President-elect on Flight #239 and all
that came after, and then the blizzard in Wisconsin that pushed Super Sunday
back another week. The latest Fancher
poll shows that, despite over a year of messages, warnings and publicity,
forty-one percent do not believe the government is telling the truth about free
television… well, at least special events like, it would seem, the Superbowl…going the way of dinosaurs, or the horse and
buggy or that, to date, there will be only seven outlets on basic, expanded or
premium cable that will be accessible, in addition to five new stations. Among those without access to cable or satellite, or with household annual incomes under fifty
thousand, that figure rises to fifty-three…”
And,
to prove the veritas of her statement, Westy’s eyes followed the two hand-drawn pies onscreen,
each with only two slices… the blue slice bigger in the pie to the left,
smaller in the one to the right.
“Some
conspiracy theories come true!” Fraser chuckled, and then all but blatting out
that he had a top of the line Mad-Def
set on order, cable too, and probably a satellite. “One bunch who aren’t complaining are the
retailers and manufacturers of the new digital hi-tech and reporter Jerry Eames
is in the midst of a shopping frenzy at the One World Mall, out in Montgomery
County… Jerry?”
“They
just usin’ that news to sell more televisions,” Westy dismissed the spot, and checked at his watch. Nine more minutes until the Skins kicked off
to start the second half. “We got Raoul’s converter, we covered. Now, can I get my hoops back?”
“Just
one minute, you,” and Lottie pointed to the television. “That boy – he have red hair that ain’t natural.
Nothin’ natural ‘bout that boy, wouldn’t believe a thing he say…”
Red-haired
Jerry was grinning foolishly in the midst of a hastily fashioned media station
at the dead center of the Giga-Plex as cameramen
representing all of the local stations, even the Spanish ones trailed a handful
of glum, frazzled shoppers as they rushed to beat the ten o’clock closing
deadline. He’d corralled a prize… Mark Tenison, Mark-Down-Mark in person… face glowing, tie askew
and ready to rock… standing in front of a Dominator… not a cardboard cutout but
the real set, finally arrived from Cluj, Romania and
planted at the center of the circle of lesser models like a High Druid priest
looming over supplicants.
“I’m
here with Mark, Mark Tenison…” Eames clarified, “he’s
the store manager out here at Giga-Plex and Mark…
Mark?”
“Mark-down
Mark in the Hizzouse!” the manager assured this
equally-caffeinated telejournalist, rotating his
right fist as if he were mixing cookie dough batter. “Open and doing business until ten pee em
tonight for all the lords and ladies Giga who want to flock on down and pluck
up one of our amazing holiday bargains.
“Holly…
holiday?” the roving reporter stammered.
“Heck
yeah!”
Jerry chirruped, “it’s OK if I say that, isn’t it? We got your Chinese New Year, your Groundhog
Day… love that little critter, your Valentine’s Day
Thursday and then it’s the beginning of our whole Presidents’ Day weekend! It’s a little slow at the moment… the game, I
understand… but over the next two weeks, we expect thousands of last minute
shoppers, getting their hands on all they can before the lights go out at
midnight, a week from Thursday, or Friday, if you will. I’ve see people buying flatscreens,
handhelds… even that bunch over there, waving coupons… they’re trying to pick
up converter boxes and get them home before the witching hour…”
Jerry’s cameraman panned
across the store, capturing only a few straggling shoppers and maybe half a
dozen looky-loos critically regarding a pyramid of
cute, red, heart-shaped (but already quickly obsoleting)
CD/DVD players.
Mark
sighed. Damn straight he’d send a copy
of this tape to Waco… in fact, he could think of a few ways to have more copies
sent, ostensibly from ordinary viewers, impressed with the manager’s
prowess. “It’s been crazy all day, Jerry
and we’ve been staying open that extra hour and until midnight starting next
Friday when the holiday bargains go on sale… did I mention Mardi Gras after the Superbowl? We’ve brought in dozens of temps, three
financial specialists…” and he waved towards the tech booth, next to which was
a festive tent, beneath which three serious men in white shirts appeared to be
following the game, “…to handle first-time credit applications and, Jerry…”
“Go
ahead, Mark…”
“We’ve
got Dominators, Jerry, the biggest, meanest MDTVs on the market today except
for those hundred fifty something Panasonics, which… Jerry… are still only
available by special order.” And then, Tenison slapped the giant television on its backside, as if
it were a horse that had just taken the fifth at Pimlico
by six lengths, after pulling away in the stretch. “We’ve got the Dominators in stock… here! Jerry… and, starting Friday, at a
low, low President’s Day price, as low as two hundred eighty-nine monthly with
approved credit. Total, show the world
what this baby can do…”
Ed
Skinner, standing obligingly by at a video camera to the side of the tent, pointed
a clicker and the huge Romanian television roared into life, showing Jerry,
Mark and the television they were gaping at again and again as the live feed
played back onto itself, a winding curve into endless replication.
“Fan-tastic…” Jerry gushed.
And
Ted Fraser, offscreen, but tossed out of his
anchorman’s cone of impartiality by the breadth and volume of the Dominator,
squealed “Where do I go to sign up?”
“Just
come on up to Giga-Plex anytime this weekend… and, as
if you needed any more incentive,” Mark coaxed his unseen audience, “all day
Saturday before the Superbowl will be… Party
Day! That’s right… free cake and nickel
hotdogs, balloons for the kids and we’ve got Big Sonny… that’s right, Jerry… L.
B. Sonnenschein, himself, up from home base in Waco,
Texas to personally present a Dominator to the Witworth
School for Orphans in Silver Spring.
Plus, there’ll be former Baltimore placekicker Jarlo
Knupp, clowns, music by the
Soft Shell Dixieland Combo and, of course, the delicious Giga-Grrrlz…
Jerry
had planned to pretend to dab his face with a handkerchief, but found, to his
dismay, that he was sweating profusely, so the act was genuine. “I think we get the picture…” he said, warily
now, because if people were going to be looking at him, close-up, on a screen
as big as that, he’d need better makeup… and a deodorant too, for who knew what senses the big foreign
televisions could transmit!
“So
come on down…” Mark varied pitch as Bob Barker used to say, he had plenty more,
but then noticed that red lights on the cameras were winking out as their
operators prepared to pack and move on to the next assignment, “… I, I… thanks,
Jerry, got merchandise to move…”
Off-camera
now, Eames gestured the crew to cease recording and began to stutter again as
he asked: “M-Mister Mark, Mark… can you tell me just what’s the difference
between Ultra High Def, Ultimate High Def and Modulated Hi-Def?
Tenison winked. “About fifteen thousand dollars! But remember… we’ve got EZ-Credit and three
financial specialists here to…”
“Okay,”
answered the red-haired reporter, although he still had no idea what the man
from Giga-Plex (or, for that matter, any of the
experts) was talking about. “R-Remember,
you owe me!”
“Those
on?” Tenison snarled at the cameraman, who shook his
head. “You know, I understand the
timing, but showing this empty store full of beautiful shit and no customers
sends a wrong message. I’ll give you a
pass because nobody’s watching your station tonight, but come back a week from
Friday… not Saturday, Saturday will be too
crazy… and you’ll get plenty of coverage.
If it looks kosher, come around back to the loading dock early Saturday
morning, before we open… and then you’ll owe
me…”
“A
Haier-46, remember?” Eames reminded the manager, bouncing up and down like a
new puppy. Ed Skinner shaking his head,
trundled a dolly of marked down iPod 13s (the ones with that bad habit of
catching fire) back to the tech center under the splashy tent to give Thunder
and another tech, McNally… a total, hopeless nerd… some backup. While those few purchasing new MHD sets seemed confident in their
ability to hook them up, there was a long line of cheap grousers, mostly
holding converter boxes, who’d been held up while the geeks were sneaking peeks
at their own devices and Tenison enjoyed his
considerably less than fifteen minutes of fame.
“They’re back,” Ed
said. “Rams fumbled the kickoff! We could actually do this…”
“Do you want to fuckin’ do this on the unemployment
line?” hollered Mark Down Mark, making a grab for Ed’s
device and failing. He pushed through
the line and around back of the table, waving at Thunder’s line of disgruntled deplorables…
“Next!”
¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾
@ VISIT THESE OTHER
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