All thoughts of being all things Scorpio are far from my mind today. I’m back at work and my crazy boss is on his usual rampage. “Where the hell is the final copy?” he bellows as everyone scatters in different directions attempting to look busy.
It’s always mayhem in the world of publishing for any publication on deadline day. Regardless of having set timelines, one is always under the gun when it comes to putting a publication to bed. For some strange reason, we are doing a feature on the American presidential election and comparing their candidates to those we have had over here. Donald Trump for all the hate he spews would fit in very well in the political processes in Africa. Our leaders tend to self-grandiose, belittle their opponents and make promises they know they will never keep. Africans have been mocked for years for falling for personality driven politics as opposed to issue-driven agendas but hey, it works, doesn’t it? President after president across the continent does an average of 20 years in power. Madness. It’s nice to know that the Americans are not quite as evolved as they think they are.
“I think he is receiving way too much attention,” I mutter.
“What was that?” my boss asks.
“Why can’t we just ignore him?” I ask exasperated knowing it’s a pointless conversation seeing as we’re going to press in under an hour. “The media have created this monster.”
“Yes,” my boss says smiling slyly. “We need to sell magazines. What do we care if they elect him?”
“Doesn’t the world catch a cold when America sneezes?” I ask.
“If they elect that joker, all America will ever manage is World War 3,” he says suddenly serious. “Don’t worry, even they are not that daft. He is there purely for entertainment.”
I wonder. In a society obsessed with questionable stardom, one that gives more money to reality show stars than real actresses, why do we honestly think that when it comes down to it, they won’t vote for someone purely for entertainment purposes?
I sign off the feature story and marvel at what the world has become. The galaxy is so huge, wouldn’t it be lovely if the sane amongst us could just move and leave the madness behind? The earth cannot survive global warming and still the Americans operate like it’s business as usual. Their Supreme Court recently blocked President Obama’s climate change rules. Why would anyone in their right senses want to limit greenhouse gas emissions from power plants? Are these people insane? Add to that, the matter wasn’t even before the Supreme Court. They granted a stay on a rule whose legality hasn’t been reviewed by a lower court. It was extraordinary and unprecedented. Something else they have in common with Africa – Supreme Court justices can be compromised the world over it seems.
After another frantic hour, I have signed off on everything and finally the magazine can make its way to the printers. Thank God.
My phone rings. It’s Mr N.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
I’m not too sure that I can deal with a hermaphrodite right now. Not after staring at Trump’s picture all day.
“I’m really tired, can we do it tomorrow?” I ask.
“I’ll have to look at my calendar,” he responds. “We are on the clock, you have three more guys to meet and screw.”
“Really? Do you have to be so crude?” I ask.
“Oh. My apologies,” he quips. You have three more guys you need to meet and make looooove to. Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“Falsely true. Now that’s an oxymoron. I believe the word you’re looking for is contradiction.”
“I forget I’m dealing with an editor,” he says with a laugh.
I love to banter with Mr N. I just wish our relationship was based on something more long lasting than blackmail. Sigh.