Adventures in Journalism, Chapter 1:
Meet the F*ckers
Today, I got to go on my first major assignment without my boss, the Boss, being there to criticize my way of screwing up things. Personally, his way of screwing up things are much more difficult than mine. At least my screw-ups don't cause the Sheriff to throw a fit of Tyra Banks-size proportions.......(Sorry, Tyra, I hope you can forgive one of your fans!)
Of course, at the moment I discovered that I was covering a dedication ceremony in our neighbor city, I became terrified. My first thought was: "Oh God, what would I do if screw up and Boss wasn't there to protect me from the public outrage?" Foutunately, my dad was there to give me some words of encouragement: "Don't be nervous, kid. You'll do fine on your own, trust me." I took those words to heart and swallowed them along with a scoarching hot swig of grape soda. Nevertheless, his simple encouragement didn't really help. Heck, I was going to be at an event where the majority of the 278th were said to be attending- some of which were still suffering from both physical and psychological scars of Iraq. I wasn't prepared to interview war vetrans, Boss never explained how to correctly handle and process the situation with the utmost care. The only thing he did for me was just grab a digital camera and voice recorder, literally handing it to me without much of an explaination. He basically told me to point and shoot, record the speech being made, and take notes. He never gave me a good luck or even a fair warning for what I was about to get myself into. Boy, I sure wish he gave me much more than a digital camera...maybe a preview of what real a**wipes actual reporters can be? Well, the joke's on me, I guess....
My dad and I were the first members of the local media to arrive to this ceremony. During our wait for the ceremonies' start, we discussed our game plans for the afternoon. We came to a conclusion after a minute: He was to be the cameraman and I was to do the reporting, fair enough. You see, my dad is a photographer in his spare time, so he knows all the tricks of the trade. As for me, I can barely operate a 35mm camera, but in the case of digital cameras, I do pretty well, so well that I wonder if Ansel Adams was seething in envy somewhere up in the sky. I ordered Dad to take pictures of the soldiers who were practicing drills for their ceremonial march, dressed to a "T" in their digital camo uniforms and fancy smancy combat boots that would have Avril Lavinge drooling. Meanwhile, I stood around, admiring the scenery, hoping it could cure my nervousness. Unfourtunately, the gorgeous Tennessean mountains were darkened by the sudden arrival of the Busy Bee(editor of the rival newspaper) and his faithful lackeys, Dangerous Blaze and his(Busy Bee's equally weird and wasted) wife, the Queen Bee. I should've seen the look on my own face when I seen them all do that "bad to the bone" walk that we all see on TV. I'd bet I had a look of utter disappointment when I seen my "mortal enemies" for the first time. From the atrocious stories of betrayal, greed, despair, and lust(okay, I made that last part up....), I pictured an evil of mythological proportions, an evil that no mortal man could DARE put a face on, much less a brave eye, and an evil that took the appearance of a slime covered basilisk who scoarched every square inch of land with his wretched breath. Instead, I was given the Busy Bee, a man who looked eerily similair to Lex Luther, but with a little bit more hair. He staggered in a clumsy way, grasping Queen Bee's hand the entire time and appearing as if he had smoked 12 LSD laced doobies in a little under 60 minutes(!!). THIS is what I have to compete with? Dear God, why didn't they compare these losers with a bunch of monkeys in the zoo? I thought to myself in amusement, gaping at the uh....sight before me as they passed through. I noticed that Busy Bee was indeed sober enough to flash me an ugly scowl that almost literally said, "Go to hell, you skinny twerp." I flashed the same scowl back at him, but apparently, he didn't pay any mind. He was muttering something about the penguins stealing his sanity......Evidently, one by one as I understood.
It was then that I felt a sudden flash of an emotion that I hadn't felt in a while(actually, since that morning): I had to pee, bad. The situation, as I realized it, was dire. I was busting to pee, the ceremony was to begin at any moment, and I had absolutely no idea where the ladies' room was. Instinct immediately took in and I made a mad dash in the National Guard Armory, busting the doors open in my wake, nearly knocking down a couple of soldiers in the process. I had no idea where the bathroom was, causing me to panic. I looked around, my eyeballs floating in their sockets, and saw a couple of ladies standing in the front foyer, preparing the food trays for the later events. I hurried up and asked the most educated question ever, "Where's the bathroom?" They pointed me the way, and well...let's not get into details, folks.
Finally, the ceremony began without an interuption, except for that annoyingly painful National Guard band, who nearly ruined the atmosphere with their "dramatic" music. The ceremony was wonderful, yet emotionally charged. I could literally hear the old general swallowing back tears as he tried to read his dedication speech to the crowd. However, what was the most disappointing aspect of the ceremony was the fact that the Governor of Tennessee's absense. I was hoping to catch him for an interview.....
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the most bizarre sight occuring on the side of a gentle, rolling knob: some guy dressed in a bright yellow T-shirt(what I assume was an EMT shirt) was frantically trying his dangdest to climb that thing. After he ended up on the top of the hill, he took his EMT shirt off and flung it into the woods, revealing a clean white T-shirt with a certain newspaper's name on the front. He quickly reached into his cargo pocket, produced a khaki-colored baseball cap, and slapped it on his bald head like he had good sense(if he even had it at all). When his 'transformation' was over, he stood as an er....frightening figure, gazing over the armory as if were his own, fearing nothing(except Chuck Norris, of course!) and keeping his newly regained soberity in check. Damn, I thought as I beheld the odd sight. He changed just like Superman in a little under a minute! Wonder who he is? The man on top of the hill grabbed his digital camera and snuck around the knob with a ninja-like percision, taking pictures left and right as he moved. Man! He's a picture-taking machine if I ever saw one! My theories of who this man was were totally blown out of the water when the most graceful move in human history occured: he tripped over, nearly falling down the knob. I began to snicker at my realization. It was Busy Bee, that stupid dumba** who enjoys smoking pot and kissing rear. I paid him no mind for the rest of the time. He wasn't bothering me because he was a safe distance from me and the other reporters on deck: Bassette, the woman who loves her stupid cat more than her husband. Babyface, a young photojournalist who appeared to be at least a year or two older than me, and finally, some Chick in Blue who worked for a newspaper I couldn't identify. They respected my space and allowed me to do my work, until......
At least 15 feet away, Busy Bee had just finished his rounds and was resting himself down at the bottom of the hill. I noticed a slight feeling like someone was staring at me and I immediately turned around to see who was staring at me. It was Busy Bee. The moment my eyes locked with his, I realized something was going on-something creepy was going through his mind, I could feel it. I nervously turned back around, suddenly feeling very scared. Again, the strange feeling hit me, and once again, I turned around to see what was going on. It appeared as if Busy Bee had goten closer, this time holding his camera close to his chest. He slowly put it down, as if he had just been caught doing something wrong. What the heck is he doing? I whispered to myself. I forced myself to turn around this time, knowing that the encouragement would evaporate sooner. Instead, I heard a camera shutter go off faintly from the crowd. I quickly turned my head and saw BB hurrying himself, putting his camera down hard on his chest, looking frantic(due to the fact that I had just seen him take a picture of me). Once more, I turned my head around, but before I could I heard the shutter go off. That SOB took another
picture of me! Finally, I was at my wits' end with Busy Bee and I had enough of him taking photos(a little creepy to me...)of me. As loud as I could, I exclaimed, causing the other reporters to go silent, "That creep is takin' pictures of me!!!!!!!!" That must've frightened Busy Bee because he ran off in a hurry. Thank God.
After the experience was over, I reported the incident to Boss, who was as angry as a mad bull. He advised me that if Busy Bee was to come near me or make me feel threatened or uncomfortable in any way during an assignment, I was to yell for the nearest police officer immediately. Secondly, he gave my dad(and me!) the right to pummel BB if he got out of hand. From now on, I decided it was best to carry either pepper spray or a knife during an assignment. Thankfully, through that awful experience, one awesome thing happened: my article got the front page of the paper. I'm flying high, boys, I'll tell you what. Until then, fair thee well.....
