{"id":668,"date":"2013-04-18T10:01:23","date_gmt":"2013-04-18T18:01:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.bukkhead.com\/blog\/?p=668"},"modified":"2013-04-18T10:01:23","modified_gmt":"2013-04-18T18:01:23","slug":"the-color-of-television","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.bukkhead.com\/blog\/2013\/04\/18\/the-color-of-television\/","title":{"rendered":"The Color of Television"},"content":{"rendered":"

fiction by Jason Edwards<\/em><\/p>\n

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. The blue blouse with the starched collar and the starched cuffs. And the black skirt. She sits behind a desk all day, her web cam doesn\u2019t show anything below her shoulders, why does she have to wear a stupid skirt? Not that it\u2019s uncomfortable, but still. And black pantyhose. And, for the love of Christ, sensible shoes. Strictly speaking, the shoes aren\u2019t governed by regulation. She knows others who wear slippers, sandals, no shoes at all. But when she\u2019d gone to the uniform shop, they\u2019d given her the hard sell. That was five years ago. Five years on the job, and she still has the same shoes. Because she sits on her ass all day.<\/p>\n

She looks at herself in the mirror. Every weekday for five years, minus vacations and furloughs and holidays. Free parking on holidays, you see. But every other day, wake up, crawl out of bed, take a shower, stand in front of the mirror and hide the slide into her 40s with these stupid clothes that she\u2019s required to wear.<\/p>\n

She likes the badge though. She pins it on, finding the same old holes. Three shirts, rotated and washed week after week, same old holes in each. She likes the badge, keeps it shiny. But hates the hat. Hates the stupid hat. She hasn\u2019t been outside in at least week, but she\u2019s worn the stupid hat every damn day. Just like the, what is it, do the math Helen, two hundred and fifty weeks before.<\/p>\n

She goes to her desk and sits down, turns on the computer, takes the pillow case off the web cam. Oldest computer on the force, she always tells anyone she has to interact with. Captain Jefferson checking in, asking for a numbers check on citations that week. Just a second, captain, I\u2019ll pull that up. Sorry, slowest computer on the force. And he\u2019d chuckle that chuckle. The one that acknowledges without committing.<\/p>\n

The screen finally comes up. The green light on the webcam pops on. There she is, in the lower right-hand corner. Fat nose. Beady eyes. Bushy brows. Decent lips though. Nice shellacking of red on them. That made sense, at least. Stupid to make you wear a uniform when you work from home and sit on front of a web cam all day, but it would make sense if make-up was regulation. She supposes someone would call that sexist. Whatever. It\u2019s not sexist if you\u2019re into it. Or something.<\/p>\n

Nine other windows, street views. Her beat is thirty-six blocks of some downtown area, under the watchful eye of two hundred and sixteen cameras. Three on each side of the street. She cycles the nine windows. Not a lot of parking, this time of day. And even those cars that are parked, the meters only just turned on ten minutes ago. Still, sometimes folks park over night, and you catch a few out.<\/p>\n

Five years ago, she\u2019d give them half an hour or so. She knew what it was like- you\u2019re out late, you know you shouldn\u2019t drive, you take a cab, figure you\u2019ll fetch your car in the morning, and then life happens and you can\u2019t get back in time to beat the meter. She figured she was rewarding their good behavior, deciding not to drive drunk.<\/p>\n

Then they started enforcing quotas. And her mother got sick. And her favorite TV show got cancelled. And she turned 36 and was still single and hated wearing that stupid hat and a lot of other bullshit, so she was there, flipping through screens at 8:01 am local time, nailing every jack-ass too lazy to crawl out of bed and retrieve his fucking car. The wages of sin, assholes. Just be glad you can afford to go out at night and get drunk at all. Be glad you can even afford a car. Some folks couldn\u2019t. Serves you right.<\/p>\n

Nowadays she gives them fifteen minutes or so. Not because she\u2019s being nice. Mostly because she just doesn\u2019t give a damn. So what if she misses her quota now and again? What are they going to do, fire her? Not while she still pays union dues.<\/p>\n

Her iPad makes a noise, and she swipes it on. A chat window. Jerry saying \u201cHey girl\u201d.<\/p>\n

She types back \u201cHey boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWatcha doing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cClimbing Everest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHa ha. I\u2019m late for work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo why are you chatting with me?\u201d<\/p>\n

One of her screen\u2019s edged in red, a meter expired. She selects the window, moves the camera and zooms in on the plate. What is it, 8:20? Who parks at eight AM and only pays for 20 minutes? She grabs the screen, opens her citation log and indicates the license tag number, make and model, time, location, what the asshole had for breakfast, how long he\u2019s been married, how long he\u2019s hated being married, where he\u2019ll have a heart attack in a few months from eating all that crappy food, what his wife will do with the insurance money.<\/p>\n

Erases most of that, saves the citation, moves on to another window. A few yellows, which she flags, just in case they come back and feed the mirror. Not strictly allowed. One hour max on this street, whether you pay for it or not. Apparently, that was a problem in some places. Coffee house denizens setting up shop with a computer and a caffeine addiction, pushing coins into the meters on their smoke breaks and parking all day while they sipped mochas at their novels.<\/p>\n

Not sure if that\u2019s a problem on her beat. She isn\u2019t even all that sure what businesses are on her blocks. The cameras can sort of make out signs and such, but not very well. She could use Google, maybe, Streetview. But that feels too much like taking her work home with her. Nevermind that she does, in fact, work from home. Nevermind that in a few minutes she\u2019ll take a break, make coffee in her own coffee pot, hike up her skirt and squat on her own toilet, wash her hands with her own soap and then stare out her own window at a street five thousand miles away from where those computers stared unblinking ten hours a day.<\/p>\n

The city saves, what, thousands, millions? On coffee and restrooms and hand soap. And wages. Cost of living for an outsourced meter maid is way lower than for one who has to live in that city. A city she\u2019d never been too. A city she\u2019d heard of, of course, but made up of about as much reality as, well, anything she watches on TV when her shift is over and her panyhose are off and those stupid shoes are kicked to the other side of the room. So who the hell cares what businesses there are on her beat?<\/p>\n

Her iPad beeps again.<\/p>\n

\u201cHelen. Helen. Helen? Hellooooo\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019d you go?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNowhere. Where would I go?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow come you didn\u2019t respond?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, got distracted. Somebody was taking a dump next to one of the meters.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHoly shit, really?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that a pun?\u201d<\/p>\n

She stands up, walks into her kitchenette, makes that coffee. Opens the fridge. Take out boxes and tupperware. Lots of leftovers. Closes the fridge, walks over to her window, stares out of it. What would someone think, walking by now, to see her, in uniform, her blouse and skirt and badge and hat, standing there like that?<\/p>\n

Nothing. They wouldn\u2019t think a thing.They might reach for a remote, see if they could change the channel. Reach for a mouse, click to another page. Or just go back to their cell phones. Seeing and thinking don\u2019t have anything to do with each other anymore.<\/p>\n

She flips on her TV, positioned to the side so no one can see it when she\u2019s on the webcam. Not sure if it\u2019s strictly regulation to have a TV on while she works. Not that there\u2019s anything to watch. She doesn\u2019t like soap operas much. Too fake. Doesn\u2019t know if, strictly speaking, the iPad is regulation either. Well, screw em, they could cut her some slack. it\u2019s just background noise.<\/p>\n

The TV says something about protesters gathering in a city park somewhere. She ignores it utterly, thinking about a dream she\u2019d had, she was a valet, parking cars illegally just so people would have to pay tickets. Her coffeemaker makes a sound, and she glances towards it, glances at the microwave. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. She dashes over to her chair, sits down, eyes locked on the screen, fumbles for the mouse. Clicks the left arrow, going back groups of screens. Click click click, damn it, why had she\u2019d left herself so far north? She clicks in the go-to box, types in 4, hits return, the screens swim over, and she\u2019s clicking on camera 6. Pulling back. The street is empty, no cars. She dares to take her eyes off the image to look at the time in the lower right hand corner. She\u2019s one minute late. Damn it damn it damn it.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s holding her breath. Her iPad makes a noise.Without looking she grabs it, sets it face down on her desk. The clock says she\u2019s two minutes late now. She starts to let her breath out. What is today, Wednesday? Does he even run on Wednesdays? Maybe he went earlier. Maybe it\u2019s getting warmer where he lives, maybe he\u2019s going on longer runs now and has to start before her shift even comes on, maybe– and there he is.<\/p>\n

Oh sweet, sweet man. Just legs and shorts and so much skin. His jet-black Nikes, she looked it up, Nike Frees, minimalist shoes. Those calves, like bundles of thick rope. Those thighs. She\u2019s never seen his face– he\u2019s always running East to West, always comes on camera from the right, exits to the left. As he does, she clicks, follows him on the next camera. He has an easy, loping pace. He\u2019s got white wires coming out of his ears, down to some device on his hand. One more screen as he runs by, she clicks over. This is the best part. On a nice day, for a few weeks, the sun catches his back, the sweat glistens, literally glistens, those sculpted traps and lats and rhomboids. She\u2019d looked that up to.<\/p>\n

And then he\u2019s gone. She\u2019s not exactly breathing hard, not exactly panting. But she finds herself touching her face, touching her hair, adjusting her hat. What\u2019s his name? Where does he live? How far does he run? Does he have Skype? She hopes not.<\/p>\n

A window pops up, Captain Jefferson. He\u2019s got as smirk on his face. \u201cHelen,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello.\u201d She glances at her own image. Is she blushing?<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019s the beat.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSame as always. Five cites so far, but it\u2019s still only morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nods. \u201cOkay, good. Listen, we need someone to cover a few blocks later. Want any overtime?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWest Coast.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sigh. Another late night. \u201cYou know, I\u2019d be happier if I didn\u2019t have to wear this hat.\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughs \u201cYeah. I\u2019ll patch you in at five, your local. Thanks Helen.\u201d His screen goes off.<\/p>\n

Of course, hers is still on. Maybe she could take some art classes, buy some expensive paints and brushes with all this overtime money, and paint a tiny little hat on the lense of her web cam, so it looks like she\u2019s wearing a hat all the time. For that matter, why not paint a little blouse on there too. And there she\u2019d be, sitting half naked in her chair, no hat, no shirt, but still wearing her skirt and the hose and the shoes. Absolutely ridiculous.<\/p>\n

The rest of the day goes by like it always does. She flips through screens, pretending to look for parking violations, actually looking for the runner to come back the other way. By lunch she\u2019s only one away from her quota. She knows others who nail their quotas every day, never falling under but never going over, either. You couldn\u2019t get away with quitting for the day if you hit yours early, so she imagines they ease up for a while, letting a few go, waiting for the last one an hour or so before they clock out.<\/p>\n

The iPad makes a sound. \u201cHey girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBusy day?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSame as always.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom wants to know if you can Facetime at dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot sure. I\u2019m pulling some over time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo? Just turn it on, she likes looking at your face. Don\u2019t know why.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll still have this stupid hat on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n

She takes her afternoon break, a diet soda, some chips. Uses the toilet, washes her hands, stands in front of the TV. The Dr. Oz show. A mother and her daughter. One of them is, apparently, addicted to video games. She can\u2019t tell which one.<\/p>\n

A commercial for the news. The woman behind the desk is gorgeous. Tasteful but sexy dress, perfect hair. No hat. \u201cAt six o\u2019clock, we\u2019ll tell you about the riot that\u2019s going on right now on the East Coast, and fish mercury– are levels on the rise?\u201d<\/p>\n

She turns back to her computer. Riot? She walks over and sits down. Starts cycling her screens. Sees a few reds, ignores them to cycle further. Everything looks fine. Everything looks- one of her screens is black. She flips to other side of the street, but of course, the cameras can\u2019t see each other, they don\u2019t have that much room to move. She flips back again, and the screen next to it is black, too.<\/p>\n

She pages the Captain, but he doesn\u2019t answer. Another of her screens goes black. And then another. She shifts to the last screen on the block. A face appears, scaring her. She pushes her chair back, but of course he can\u2019t see her. His face is distorted, too close for the camera to focus. He seems to be smiling, laughing, shaking back and forth, and then that screen goes black, too.<\/p>\n

She switches to the next block– more black screens. Tries another. Tries the Captain again. Nothing. Tries more screens. One of them is still on, but as she watches it starts to shake violently, then goes dark. Soon all of her screens are black. Every last one.<\/p>\n

Except for the one with her face in it, in the lower right hand corner. She looks at herself, but of course what she\u2019s seeing is herself looking at her self. She reaches up and takes off her hat. And then the entire computer screen turns off, and she\u2019s left staring at nothing but dead glass.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

fiction by Jason Edwards Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. The blue blouse with the starched collar and the starched cuffs. And the black skirt. She sits behind a desk all day, her web cam doesn\u2019t show anything below her shoulders, why does she have to wear a stupid skirt? Not that it\u2019s uncomfortable, but still. And black … <\/p>\n

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