Going to the Bad
Authors: Nora McFarland
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For
Trish Lande Grader
Sulay Hernandez
Lauren Spiegel
Christmas Eve, 8:31 a.m.
I
glanced out at the KJAY newsroom. My elevated position
on the assignment desk gave me an excellent view as my coworkers prepared for our noon show. As is typical in most newsrooms this time of year, the food and frills of the holiday season existed side by side with the uglier realities of our business. Bloody crime-scene video played next to a platter of holiday cookies. A script detailing a tragic car wreck sat on the printer next to a pot of candy canes.
My name's Lilly Hawkins. I was born and raised here in Bakersfield at the southern end of California's Central Valley. I'm a TV news photographer, nicknamed a
shooter
in the industry, at KJAY.
I would have preferred to be sitting out in the newsroom with the newshounds and foodâor even better, in the field shooting videoâbut Callum, our station's assignment manager, had taken a rare week off for Christmas. It was my temporary job to supervise newsgathering and ensure stories made it on air. I hated it.
I love KJAY and I love TV news, but spending my day on the assignment desk went against all my instinctsâworking inside instead of out, planning instead of acting, having to watch my tone as I gave orders to other people instead of brazenly ignoring orders given to me.
My mood both brightened and dimmed when I saw Freddy's mop of bleached-blond curls pass through the rear door of the newsroom.
He fired off finger pistols at a few old friends, but mostly made a beeline straight for me. “Dude, is it true what they're saying about the giant python?”
“I haven't heard about a python, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say, no, it's not true.”
Despite the cold weather this time of year, Freddy wore his usual cargo shorts and flip-flops. His only concession to the season was a sweatshirt with a surfing snowman.
“And is it just me,” I said, “or do you spend more time at the station now that you don't work here?”
He ignored me. Maybe he knew that I missed him. “Dude, seriously, tell me you have a reporter on this python-sludge thing.”
“I've got the morning anchor and the dayside reporter both at the site of a multivehicle pileup.” I glanced up at the dry-erase board where we laid out the day's stories. “A tanker truck carrying sludge was involved, but there was no snake.”
“Dude, there totally was. Everyone's saying a twenty-foot python escaped during the crash.”
“Who's everyone?”
Freddy's eyes shifted away. “This dude I do business with.”
“Does the dude sell you weed?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
“There is no missing python.” I returned to sorting through press releases. “Sludge is all over the place, though. I don't think they'll have the roads open again until this afternoon.”
Sludge is a waste by-product that other cities and counties pay Bakersfield to take off their hands. It's our biggest import.
“The city is in total cover-up mode because they don't want to start a panic.” Freddy spread his arms wide. “Think about it. Twenty feet. That snake could totally gobble a baby.”
“Did you drop in today to pass on fake news tips or are you thinking about coming back to work here?”
His arms dropped, as well as his enthusiasm. “There's totally no job for me. MMJs killed the video star.”
MMJs, or multimedia journalists, were essentially one-man-band reporters who shot and edited their own video for television, the web, and mobile devices. When the station higher-ups
announced we were joining the ranks of many other small-market TV stations and transitioning to MMJs, I'd predicted catastrophic failure. KJAY had always saved money by occasionally assigning shooters to stories without a reporter, but I believed the reverse was impossible.
I'd been wrong. Our staff of young reporters had proven remarkably adept at mastering the new digital cameras and editing software. To my horror, as a group they were both comfortable and competent shooting their own video.
Freddy and the rest of the videography department had all lost their jobs. At least I'd kept my title of
chief photographer
. The only hitch was that now instead of managing a department of shooters, I trained the reporters on how to use the cameras, handled equipment issues, and shot video for the older anchors and reporters who would never adapt to the new system.
“I'm not looking to come back.” Freddy glanced across the rows of battered metal desks to the rear of the room. “College is awesome. I'm here today for the Tedster. He needs good vibes and moral support.”
The Wonder Twins, as Teddy and Freddy had sarcastically been nicknamed when they were the laziest and least responsible shooters on staff, no longer looked anything alike. Teddy, the shyer and nicer of the two, had cut off his bleached-blond curls and become KJAY's junior sports reporter. As part of his TV makeover, his name had also been shortened to Tedâanother of the many things I was having trouble adjusting to.
Freddy watched his best friend on the other side of the room trying to tie a Windsor knot. “This is a big day for my main dude. First time anchoring instead of just doing sports.”
I shrugged. “They canceled the eleven o'clock show for the holiday so Ted only has to do the noon and five. And I've got the animal shelter coming to do an adopt-a-pet segment. That'll kill a lot of time and be all heartwarming. Should be cake.”
The hallway door opened. Leanore Drucker, my best friend and
the KJAY historical reporter, entered carrying a gingerbread house. “Hi, everybody. I'm dropping off a little holiday cheer.”
Several mumbles from random places in the newsroom were her only thanks. Leanore didn't let the lack of enthusiasm dim her smile. She was an optimist; a strange and exotic species I'd never understand. Of course that optimism didn't prevent an occasional tart observation. Her news stories, although usually soft-boiled rehashes of local history, always contained a healthy amount of wit.
“Good to know the spirit of love and goodwill flourishes in the heart of the newsroom.” She tossed back her auburn hair. Since Leanore is in her sixties, the veracity of that shade was in question, but real or fake it had become her calling card on TV. “FYI, something major is tying up all the traffic.”
I nodded. “Auto versus tanker. It turned into a real pileup.”
“The tanker spilled its cargo.” Freddy raised an eyebrow. “Sludge all over the road.”
Leanore, always a lady, didn't react.
Freddy continued, “You know, sludge is like . . . waste.”
Leanore removed a speck of lint from her jacket. “I understand what it is.”
“You know, medical waste and sewage waste.”
“Yes, I get it.”
“It's poop.”
“I understand, Frederick.” For Leanore, using the long form of someone's name was akin to the nuclear option.
Even Freddy understood that and dropped the subject. “There's also a thirty-foot cobra missing from the wreck.”
Leanore's eyes widened and shot to me.
“Don't worry, there's no snake.” I turned to Freddy. “A minute ago you said it was a twenty-foot python. Next you'll say it's a fifteen-foot anteater or a forty-foot rat.”
We were interrupted by a ten-thousand-year-old demon. (Full disclosure: I have no actual proof that the individual in question is anything other than a blond, twenty-one-year-old reporter.) “I'm
coanchoring the noon and the five today with Ted. What's the latest on the lead story?”
I gestured behind me to the wall of monitors and video decks. “We're planning to open the noon with a live shot from the scene of the accident. Preliminary video should feed back any minute.”
“I haven't been at KJAY very long, so I don't know how smart you are about these things.” She spoke with the condescension of someone who'd planned for her first job out of college to be in a much bigger television market. “But I'm assuming you haven't had much real training in what makes good video. I need the sludge. That's the important shot.”
Freddy and Leanore, alerted either by her condescending tone of voice or my body language as I reacted to it, each took an instinctive step back.
I leaned forward. “I know more today about what makes good video than you'll know at the end of your entire career, which will probably come in about ten years when you're passed over for fillin weekend anchor in Fresno.”
Her mouth compressed at the same time as her eyes widened. “There's no need to attack me. All I want is for my show to be as good as possible.”
What she wanted was to get good video of her anchoring a newscast for an audition reel. Since I wanted her gone almost as much as she wanted to be in a larger TV market, we had a common goal.
I swallowed hard. “You're right. I'm sorry. I'm out of line. I promise we'll get video of the sludge.”
She tore the candy chimney off Leanore's gingerbread house and exited toward the control room.
Freddy stepped back to the assignment desk. “You got some sand in your butt crack today?”
“Freddy,” Leanore and I both said loudly and in unison.
“Dudes, I don't punch a clock here anymore. I can totally say all kinds of inappropriate stuff now.” Freddy saw the look on my
face and dropped his smirk. “Don't get me wrong, she was a total tool, but your reaction was a little extreme.”
I didn't say anything.
