misguidance.
NewsRadio.
Matthew. Bill. Spilled coffee and crumpled tissues.
Written for very_improbable for the sitcomathon. I've been meaning to finish some NewsRadio stuff for quite a while, so huzzah to finally accomplishing that!
1450 Broadway. This was the place.
Brushing overly long bangs out of his eyes (he was going to need a trim soon - Mom had mentioned that to him earlier in the week), Matthew pushed his way through the revolving glass doors leading to the main level of the Criterion building.
And promptly became stuck.
It took a moment for the security guards to notice him struggling, and after a few snickers (and snaps of their Polaroid - security guards must have a lot of time on their hands), they eventually helped pull him out.
"I think your purse strap got stuck in the lock, friend," said the stout, shorter guard with a wide grin.
"Oh, it's not a purse. It's a messenger bag," Matthew explained, flailing his left arm a bit uselessly to emphasize. The other guard, thin and balding, leaned over the security desk, propping his weight on his elbows.
"Hey... you wouldn't happen to have any extra snackies in that messenger bag of yours, would you, son?"
"Snackies?"
"Yeah," the stout guard added, leaning forward as well. "Something to gromp on. You know, for all our troubles of gettin' you through that door."
Matthew paused, then slowly opened the flap of the canvas bag and lifted out a crinkled brown paper sack. "Well, I did bring a tuna sandwich and some yo--"
Two pairs of hands snatched the lunchbag away from him.
"--gurt," he finished lamely.
He ended up being fourteen minutes late, after the guards insisted on posing in a few more Polaroid snapshots with him, for security identification purposes.
Matthew didn't quite understand what the point of wearing the matching neon foam hats and plastic sunglasses was, but supposed it might have to do with stealth tracking techniques or some other form of security that was too advanced for him to quite get. Everything was becoming so high-tech these days.
A petite woman with a head full of wild red curls was pouring coffee into a ceramic yellow mug when he finally made it to the fourteenth floor.
"You're late," she said, not even glancing up at him. Matthew opened his mouth to speak when the woman abruptly stumbled and the hand holding her mug jerked against her chest, spilling coffee over the oversized turquoise sweater she was wearing. She spun around in a flash, features seething. "Joe!"
For a moment, Matthew thought she was yelling at him until he noticed giggling coming from the control room behind him. A dark-haired man dressed in plaid flannel and faded jeans stumbled out, his large frame a stark contrast to his high-pitched laughter.
"So. My extremely advanced re-fashioning of the Super Speed Koosh Ball doesn't work, eh, Beth?"
"You are dead."
Beth and Joe attacked one another.
With Koosh Balls.
Matthew opened his mouth in another futile attempt to introduce himself, then snapped it shut once he noticed the hulking man in the shabby brown suit stalking over to him.
Beth noticed, too, and dropped her grip on Joe's left shirt sleeve. "Uh-oh," she whispered.
Before Matthew could open his mouth a third time--
"Ed Harlow, news director. Who the hell are you?"
"I--"
"Because, whoever you are--" a quick glance at a large, ugly watch "--you're late. You'd better not be wasting my time."
Joe's jaw tightened. Beth rolled her eyes.
Matthew inhaled deeply. "I'm Matthew Phillip Brock, the new on-air reporter-talking-person, who, uh, will be reporting things, getting things reported, I'm late, but I was helping the security guards, so, please, don't fire me!" Exhaling in a loud whoosh, he paused. "Plus, my Mom'd get really mad at me."
Ed's eyes narrowed, but he jerked his head over his shoulder, and Matthew followed, glancing back at Beth and Joe, both of whom waved half-heartedly as he passed.
By lunch, Matthew was in the men's restroom, crying into a wadded up ball of Kleenex.
"Dude, Ed's an asshole," Joe reassured him, leaning against the wall. "Don't sweat it."
"Yeah." Beth snapped her gum loudly and ran a hand through her hair, trying to smooth her bangs without success. "You'll learn to ignore him soon enough. We all did."
Joe didn't seem surprised that she had followed them in there, so Matthew decided not to mention it. Maybe here, men and women regularly used each other's restrooms without question. It was probably a Brooklyn thing.
The door swung open and a tall, square-jawed man in horn-rimmed glasses entered. Matthew perked his head up and immediately stopped sniffling.
"What's the cause of the waterworks?" Bill McNeal asked dryly, turning the sink faucet on and beginning to scrub his hands.
Beth handed a fresh tissue to Matthew. "Ed."
"Ah." Bill's eyes conveyed no visible reaction as he started rinsing. "That reminds me. The Dole piece is coming up, and he's been acting a little shaky about that. Of course, Catherine thinks it's all hers - typically delusional of her - but I'd just like him to understand that the traffic reports might become a bit, uh... delayed, if you catch my drift, should he even hesitate in handing over my plane ticket to Washington."
Crack. Beth snapped her gum again. "Tell him yourself, Bill."
Bill's lips thinned as he reached for a paper towel, but he continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, his pitch climbing several octaves. "I'm just so busy, what with my important schedule of upcoming interviews, and all--"
Joe sighed loudly.
"--that I'd hate for it to throw off my rhythm of normally superb efficiency--"
Matthew leaped up.
"I'll do it for you, Bill!"
A shark's smile instantly surfaced. "...really? What a nice surprise. And I'd be quite grateful to you for it, Br... Brad-- Brandon--"
"Matthew," Beth interrupted.
"Right, Maxwell. So, Max, if you could just run on over to Ed's office before my 1:15 update, I'd be eternally grateful."
"Sure thing, Bill! And if you want me to, uh, talk--"
The door swung shut.
The 1:00 staff meeting was rather uneventful. Or, perhaps, too eventful.
It depended on how one looked at it.
When Ed asked for new station ID promo ideas, Joe was quick to respond. First, with, "WNYX: Because all of the other stations are being paid by the tobacco companies!", then, "WNYX: When news breaks, we fix it... well, actually, I fix it, you guys just sit around in the booth and stuff, but it's sort of catchy, right?" and finally, dropping all pretense of caring and simply blurting, "WNYX: No government cover-ups about extraterrestrials!"
"Congratulations," said Ed. "You're a moron."
Joe took this as a compliment, smirking and crossing his arms. Lisa furrowed her brow and started flipping through her notes.
Matthew learned quickly that nothing was ever really accomplished at these meetings, and there were two a day, although Beth had explained to him that there originally used to be three. This was perfect for him, because it meant a lot less work than when he had been stuck for long hours at his dental practice.
Everyone was excused after Bill accidentally spilled a pot of coffee on Catherine, then claimed that the burns were much too severe for her to even hope to be able to travel in such a condition.
The coffee was cold.
Ed shouted at Beth over his shoulder before he slammed his office door; something about calling his chiropractor and quitting immediately and possibly committing suicide.
"How do you like it here, so far?" Lisa asked, shuffling through the brown binder on her desk. Matthew scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight.
Lisa was young and pretty, and talking to her made him nervous. But talking to Bill made him even more nervous.
"It's... good," he managed.
"Good, huh? I wish I could say the same of my first day."
Matthew swallowed and reached up to remove his glasses, absently cleaning them on his sweater vest. "Oh. Was it... was it bad?"
Lisa grinned ruefully. "That's putting it mildly. I don't even want to remember exactly how Bill pulled that--"
"Bill?" Matthew interrupted before he could help it, then bit his lip, turning away and sliding his glasses back on. "Sorry."
"That's all right." But Lisa had set her binder down and was now peering at him curiously from behind thick, dark bangs. "What do you think of Bill?"
"He's... great."
"Hmm."
"And... and smart. And there have been four books written about him already, did you know that? And he's only thirty-six!"
Lisa's tone was flat. "Is that so."
"Well, it's only natural, though!" Matthew's anxiety quickly faded into bright enthusiasm. "I mean, the time that he rescued that elderly Siberian woman from the freak hurricane in Tijuana could have been a book itself!"
"...excuse me."
Bill hardly looked up from his newspaper as Lisa stormed into the newsbooth.
"We're on in three, but I guess if you're really that hurried to discuss the Bush piece, we could squeeze it in."
Lisa was unimpressed. "Why are you already trying to destroy the new guy?"
He turned to the Sports section, keeping his tone light. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Don't even try this, Bill. You might be able to scare off the people in Ad Sales, but you remember what happened the last time you messed with me."
He involuntarily winced, glancing down at his lap. "And won't soon forget."
"What do you possibly have to gain from lying to him? Does your ego need inflated even further?"
"Lisa, he's a spaz. As the person at the top of the office hierarchy, it's my obligational duty to mess with him a little. It'll toughen him up; just like those National Geographic specials where the wild geese pit fight their young, in order to make them stronger!"
He paused, glaring.
"And, besides. My irrefutable talents are what help to keep my ego inflated."
Lisa watched him tap the ash from his cigarette. "Catherine's going to Washington, you know." She didn't sound the least bit apologetic. "And you'd better talk to Matthew before he leaves today, or I'll tell him myself."
Bill's knuckles were white. "Will do."
At the end of the day, Matthew stood in the elevator with mixed emotions.
He was glad to have made so many new friends, and the matter with Ed was practically forgotten - well, for now... but he hadn't realized how extreme Lisa's feelings for Bill were. It must have been so devastating for her when he refused her advances. No wonder she'd tried to lie to him about Bill's achievements! He only hoped she could continue to seek the help she needed from her therapist.
He also hoped he could finally read about Bill's adventures one day.
The books were out of print, but only because a new gold-bound collection containing all of them was set to be published soon. It didn't take long for him to realize that Bill McNeal was the single greatest entity he had ever met in his entire life.
And he got to work with him on a daily basis.
Beaming, Matthew didn't even notice the Polaroid of him caught in the doors taped high above the security desk like some bizarre medal of honor.
And promptly became stuck again.
fin.
Matthew. Bill. Spilled coffee and crumpled tissues.
Written for very_improbable for the sitcomathon. I've been meaning to finish some NewsRadio stuff for quite a while, so huzzah to finally accomplishing that!
1450 Broadway. This was the place.
Brushing overly long bangs out of his eyes (he was going to need a trim soon - Mom had mentioned that to him earlier in the week), Matthew pushed his way through the revolving glass doors leading to the main level of the Criterion building.
And promptly became stuck.
It took a moment for the security guards to notice him struggling, and after a few snickers (and snaps of their Polaroid - security guards must have a lot of time on their hands), they eventually helped pull him out.
"I think your purse strap got stuck in the lock, friend," said the stout, shorter guard with a wide grin.
"Oh, it's not a purse. It's a messenger bag," Matthew explained, flailing his left arm a bit uselessly to emphasize. The other guard, thin and balding, leaned over the security desk, propping his weight on his elbows.
"Hey... you wouldn't happen to have any extra snackies in that messenger bag of yours, would you, son?"
"Snackies?"
"Yeah," the stout guard added, leaning forward as well. "Something to gromp on. You know, for all our troubles of gettin' you through that door."
Matthew paused, then slowly opened the flap of the canvas bag and lifted out a crinkled brown paper sack. "Well, I did bring a tuna sandwich and some yo--"
Two pairs of hands snatched the lunchbag away from him.
"--gurt," he finished lamely.
He ended up being fourteen minutes late, after the guards insisted on posing in a few more Polaroid snapshots with him, for security identification purposes.
Matthew didn't quite understand what the point of wearing the matching neon foam hats and plastic sunglasses was, but supposed it might have to do with stealth tracking techniques or some other form of security that was too advanced for him to quite get. Everything was becoming so high-tech these days.
A petite woman with a head full of wild red curls was pouring coffee into a ceramic yellow mug when he finally made it to the fourteenth floor.
"You're late," she said, not even glancing up at him. Matthew opened his mouth to speak when the woman abruptly stumbled and the hand holding her mug jerked against her chest, spilling coffee over the oversized turquoise sweater she was wearing. She spun around in a flash, features seething. "Joe!"
For a moment, Matthew thought she was yelling at him until he noticed giggling coming from the control room behind him. A dark-haired man dressed in plaid flannel and faded jeans stumbled out, his large frame a stark contrast to his high-pitched laughter.
"So. My extremely advanced re-fashioning of the Super Speed Koosh Ball doesn't work, eh, Beth?"
"You are dead."
Beth and Joe attacked one another.
With Koosh Balls.
Matthew opened his mouth in another futile attempt to introduce himself, then snapped it shut once he noticed the hulking man in the shabby brown suit stalking over to him.
Beth noticed, too, and dropped her grip on Joe's left shirt sleeve. "Uh-oh," she whispered.
Before Matthew could open his mouth a third time--
"Ed Harlow, news director. Who the hell are you?"
"I--"
"Because, whoever you are--" a quick glance at a large, ugly watch "--you're late. You'd better not be wasting my time."
Joe's jaw tightened. Beth rolled her eyes.
Matthew inhaled deeply. "I'm Matthew Phillip Brock, the new on-air reporter-talking-person, who, uh, will be reporting things, getting things reported, I'm late, but I was helping the security guards, so, please, don't fire me!" Exhaling in a loud whoosh, he paused. "Plus, my Mom'd get really mad at me."
Ed's eyes narrowed, but he jerked his head over his shoulder, and Matthew followed, glancing back at Beth and Joe, both of whom waved half-heartedly as he passed.
By lunch, Matthew was in the men's restroom, crying into a wadded up ball of Kleenex.
"Dude, Ed's an asshole," Joe reassured him, leaning against the wall. "Don't sweat it."
"Yeah." Beth snapped her gum loudly and ran a hand through her hair, trying to smooth her bangs without success. "You'll learn to ignore him soon enough. We all did."
Joe didn't seem surprised that she had followed them in there, so Matthew decided not to mention it. Maybe here, men and women regularly used each other's restrooms without question. It was probably a Brooklyn thing.
The door swung open and a tall, square-jawed man in horn-rimmed glasses entered. Matthew perked his head up and immediately stopped sniffling.
"What's the cause of the waterworks?" Bill McNeal asked dryly, turning the sink faucet on and beginning to scrub his hands.
Beth handed a fresh tissue to Matthew. "Ed."
"Ah." Bill's eyes conveyed no visible reaction as he started rinsing. "That reminds me. The Dole piece is coming up, and he's been acting a little shaky about that. Of course, Catherine thinks it's all hers - typically delusional of her - but I'd just like him to understand that the traffic reports might become a bit, uh... delayed, if you catch my drift, should he even hesitate in handing over my plane ticket to Washington."
Crack. Beth snapped her gum again. "Tell him yourself, Bill."
Bill's lips thinned as he reached for a paper towel, but he continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, his pitch climbing several octaves. "I'm just so busy, what with my important schedule of upcoming interviews, and all--"
Joe sighed loudly.
"--that I'd hate for it to throw off my rhythm of normally superb efficiency--"
Matthew leaped up.
"I'll do it for you, Bill!"
A shark's smile instantly surfaced. "...really? What a nice surprise. And I'd be quite grateful to you for it, Br... Brad-- Brandon--"
"Matthew," Beth interrupted.
"Right, Maxwell. So, Max, if you could just run on over to Ed's office before my 1:15 update, I'd be eternally grateful."
"Sure thing, Bill! And if you want me to, uh, talk--"
The door swung shut.
The 1:00 staff meeting was rather uneventful. Or, perhaps, too eventful.
It depended on how one looked at it.
When Ed asked for new station ID promo ideas, Joe was quick to respond. First, with, "WNYX: Because all of the other stations are being paid by the tobacco companies!", then, "WNYX: When news breaks, we fix it... well, actually, I fix it, you guys just sit around in the booth and stuff, but it's sort of catchy, right?" and finally, dropping all pretense of caring and simply blurting, "WNYX: No government cover-ups about extraterrestrials!"
"Congratulations," said Ed. "You're a moron."
Joe took this as a compliment, smirking and crossing his arms. Lisa furrowed her brow and started flipping through her notes.
Matthew learned quickly that nothing was ever really accomplished at these meetings, and there were two a day, although Beth had explained to him that there originally used to be three. This was perfect for him, because it meant a lot less work than when he had been stuck for long hours at his dental practice.
Everyone was excused after Bill accidentally spilled a pot of coffee on Catherine, then claimed that the burns were much too severe for her to even hope to be able to travel in such a condition.
The coffee was cold.
Ed shouted at Beth over his shoulder before he slammed his office door; something about calling his chiropractor and quitting immediately and possibly committing suicide.
"How do you like it here, so far?" Lisa asked, shuffling through the brown binder on her desk. Matthew scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight.
Lisa was young and pretty, and talking to her made him nervous. But talking to Bill made him even more nervous.
"It's... good," he managed.
"Good, huh? I wish I could say the same of my first day."
Matthew swallowed and reached up to remove his glasses, absently cleaning them on his sweater vest. "Oh. Was it... was it bad?"
Lisa grinned ruefully. "That's putting it mildly. I don't even want to remember exactly how Bill pulled that--"
"Bill?" Matthew interrupted before he could help it, then bit his lip, turning away and sliding his glasses back on. "Sorry."
"That's all right." But Lisa had set her binder down and was now peering at him curiously from behind thick, dark bangs. "What do you think of Bill?"
"He's... great."
"Hmm."
"And... and smart. And there have been four books written about him already, did you know that? And he's only thirty-six!"
Lisa's tone was flat. "Is that so."
"Well, it's only natural, though!" Matthew's anxiety quickly faded into bright enthusiasm. "I mean, the time that he rescued that elderly Siberian woman from the freak hurricane in Tijuana could have been a book itself!"
"...excuse me."
Bill hardly looked up from his newspaper as Lisa stormed into the newsbooth.
"We're on in three, but I guess if you're really that hurried to discuss the Bush piece, we could squeeze it in."
Lisa was unimpressed. "Why are you already trying to destroy the new guy?"
He turned to the Sports section, keeping his tone light. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Don't even try this, Bill. You might be able to scare off the people in Ad Sales, but you remember what happened the last time you messed with me."
He involuntarily winced, glancing down at his lap. "And won't soon forget."
"What do you possibly have to gain from lying to him? Does your ego need inflated even further?"
"Lisa, he's a spaz. As the person at the top of the office hierarchy, it's my obligational duty to mess with him a little. It'll toughen him up; just like those National Geographic specials where the wild geese pit fight their young, in order to make them stronger!"
He paused, glaring.
"And, besides. My irrefutable talents are what help to keep my ego inflated."
Lisa watched him tap the ash from his cigarette. "Catherine's going to Washington, you know." She didn't sound the least bit apologetic. "And you'd better talk to Matthew before he leaves today, or I'll tell him myself."
Bill's knuckles were white. "Will do."
At the end of the day, Matthew stood in the elevator with mixed emotions.
He was glad to have made so many new friends, and the matter with Ed was practically forgotten - well, for now... but he hadn't realized how extreme Lisa's feelings for Bill were. It must have been so devastating for her when he refused her advances. No wonder she'd tried to lie to him about Bill's achievements! He only hoped she could continue to seek the help she needed from her therapist.
He also hoped he could finally read about Bill's adventures one day.
The books were out of print, but only because a new gold-bound collection containing all of them was set to be published soon. It didn't take long for him to realize that Bill McNeal was the single greatest entity he had ever met in his entire life.
And he got to work with him on a daily basis.
Beaming, Matthew didn't even notice the Polaroid of him caught in the doors taped high above the security desk like some bizarre medal of honor.
And promptly became stuck again.
fin.