Editor-in-chief's office.
The office smelled of cigarettes and Italian-roast coffee. A long fluorescent light lit up the perfectly square space with a white, headache-inducing shine.
"A man tripped over a curb and broke his arm," the intern read. What a dumb story. What a dumb first assignment. All of his Tik Tok followers had commented their congratulations on his "New-summer-internship dance" post. And now, day one, they assign him this?
"You go to Harvard—"
"Yale," the privileged intern snapped.
"And you came up with 'A man tripped over a curb?'" The crusty old-man placed an elbow on the cluttered desk. His other hand combed the Old-Spice conditioned hairs above his upper lip.
"That's what they assigned me."
"I assigned it to you." The old-man's voice filled the room without raising a decibel.
"Can you give me a better story?"
The old-man took his finger off the ocean-spray scented 'stache and feverishly punched at the phone, "Come in here, Martin."
Seconds later, the door opened, and Martin's spidery figure slipped into the room. "Sir, we are working on—"
"I saw a man trip over a curb today." The old-man stated.
For three-Mississippis, all that could be heard was the electricity crackle through the overhead bulb. Martin opened his thin lips and muttered, "My god."
Martin's eyes bounced around like a Kanye Twitter rant. "I can get Clark working on this right away."
"No need. I assigned it to our intern."
Martin let out a yelp. "Y-y-you assigned it to h-him?"
"Yes, he goes to Harvard—"
"Yale."
"I think he can handle it."
"Sir, I think we need a seasoned professional."
"Be gone, Martin." The old-man gave a wave and Martin's cursive-shaped figure twirled out of the office.
The intern sat still staring at the old-man. This had to be a joke. As a Yale-man, he would not give them the satisfaction. "The President is holding a rally in Ohio next week. Maybe I could—"
"Do you not understand the significance of what happened?" The old-man placed his palms flat on his desk in a seated power pose.
The intern shook his head.
"Exactly." The old-man stated, smiling as if he just solved a Rubik’s Cube without online help. "People don't hate curbs; they don't like curbs; they're indifferent."
"And that's why there's no story; it's insignificant."
"Bullhockey!" The old-man exclaimed. "Things of no importance are of the utmost importance because we make them important! I saw a man trip over a curb two-days ago and another man today. People are tripping over curbs, and the public needs to be infuriated. Curbs are meant to help us, but recently, in my opinion, curbs are too high!"
The intern's face flushed red.
The old-man continued, "You can report on the President if you want, but if you don't write this story, you are forbidden to write about curbs this entire summer!"
"Thank you." The intern stood and left the office pleased that he had not given in to their antics. As he packed his Vineyard Vines briefcase, he let his mind wander to a future where he'd post a "Just-published-my-first-news-release dance" on his Tik Tok page. His 3,011 followers would be ecstatic.
Presidential rally
The scene inside the rally had the buzz of a Sooner's Saturday. The smell of Monster Energy and Copenhagen-straight clouded the air. Surrounded by tube tops, painted bellies, and funny-text t-shirts, the intern felt over-dressed and superior. The intern stayed seated as “the wave" past his seat a second time; he didn't want to risk his shirt coming untucked for a silly stadium game.
"Eye of the Tiger" blasted from the speakers. The crowd whooped and hollered. The President waved as he climbed the stairs and walked to the podium.
"Beautiful people, you are all beautiful." He started, "The media won't show how many of you there are."
The intern clicked his pen, ready to become a real journalist.
"Our country is at a state of emergency." The President continued.
The intern pressed the tip to the paper, excited for the emergency.
"First the anthem, then the flag," The President paused, "And now they’re coming for our curbs."
The crowd erupted.
"Curbs haven't done anything wrong; they're just curbs!"
New York Times: Front Page
"President Claims Curbs causing Broken-Arms "OK' at Ohio Rally."
By Clark Rojas.