The Latter Day Saints of Television, Part 1: Black Mirror and Heyna Arena

The Latter Day Saints of Television

Black Mirror

Free at last. It took a little backstrength to open the fire-resistant doors, but usually Oliver managed just fine. Being polite and all, he sometimes would notice a fellow traveller and lean into the iron leaf, exchanging a fake smile with whoever was passing through. Maybe a little banter, if he felt like knowing the person, but usually everybody wanted to get out asap (no time for chit-chat). Then he would produce a small bottle of cheap swill and take a gulp, before descending down the stairwell to the lower levels of the subterranean car park. Another rip at a different door handle and there it was! His daily commuter. It wasn't much, but it was his.

Ignition! A ballet of pedal pushes and stick shifts, accompanied by a few turns of the driving wheel and Oliver simultaneously lighting a cigarette (now dangling in the corner of his mouth). Looking around, you could notice the ashtray compartment spilling over, but Oliver didn't care. He was already busy cranking the car window, to make sure his arm could reach the unit in charge of the entry barrier. The last thing standing between him and the open sky. Daylight! Pure bliss! Compared to his work, that was.

Overall it was a lovely October afternoon, besides the lingering smell of burning trash, originating from the municipal garbage incinerator (double functioning as a power plant). Either way, now all Oliver had to do was pass a decaying cable bridge and cross the river, then he was out. There were a few boats. One of the long ones, carrying coal. The other one a riverbound chinese restaurant, almost always docked shoreside, but ready to escape at any given moment, with the health department in hot persuit. Possibly in the wake of yet another anual corporate christmas debauchery and a few bad cases of MSG induced diarrhea.

Half an hour later. Oliver opened his apartment door and felt somewhat satisfied with himself. He went through the motions and hung up his jacket, took a piss, grabbed a cold beer and dove for the couch, reaching for the remote. It was a neverending barrage of reality television, celebrity camel-toes, grandstanding blowhards, and commercials for sanitary napkins and who knows what. To others television might have been a dying medium, but then Oliver was an oldfashioned guy, who liked things as they were. To him it was like a bubble bath, or having a hot shower. Get drunk, watch television. It was as simple as that. Eventually the remote would slip his softening grasp and he'd fall asleep.

Hyena Arena

Magnus was about to launch a new format. It was about as milquetoast as the rest of his catalogue, but to him it was like the talk-show equivalent of Michael Jackson's bad-phase. A sentiment he kept reiterating during production, even if most crew members weren't exactly sure what the hell he was talking about. Black finger gloves, gang warfare? Knife fights? Then during the last rehearsals a delivery guy would crash the studio and ask loudly for the person who ordered sushi. Magnus would raise his hand, grab the bag, and retreat to the wardrobe until further notice.

At the time Magnus was going through a bad divorce. His soon to be ex-wife, another tv-presenter, wasn't as hot as she used to be and eventually her fading looks turned into an intolerable burden. Especially considering his own delayed midlife-crisis and an emergent desire for "rebellion", which was mostly just a fashion statement. Like wearing leather motorcycle jackets, joining a kickboxing class (no hits to the face!) and carefully distancing himself from his perfect son-in-law bitch boy image. At heart he was still the kind of guy who'd finesse all the older ladies, issuing sermons against recreational marijuana, jaywalking, or the unemployed. He even married an older woman, which was kind of progressive at the time, before it turned awkward. Now it was time for a younger wife, he told himself.

Intitially his relationship with Suzy was fantastic. She'd put out his clothes in the morning, cut his hair, and give instructional advice on his sexual performance (he was doing pretty good actually). It was also fun to hit the red carpet together and throw poses for the paparazzi, who in turn would sell their pictures to the rainbow press. The absolute highlight in that regard was an unexpected pregnancy and the birth of a pair of identical twins. Not on the red carpet, but it might as well could've been. Both Magnus and Suzy remembered that period fondly. Good times, no doubt. Then it all fell apart.

One day an aged Suzy would peak over her shoulder and catch a glimpse of Magnus gazing at her ass, but it wasn't a complimentary gaze. His eyes were narrowed and he appeared to be absent, like she could see his mind buffering. Then he would nod, smile and take his leave. Suzy knew, Magnus knew, but none of them verbally acknowledged what the fuck just happened. It was like a countdown had started ticking. The final nail in the coffin was a botched cosmetic surgery, originally intented as some sort of last hurrah, meant to rekindle their failing relationship. That's when it got nasty.

Part 2: https://steemit.com/hive-161155/@grebmot/the-latter-day-saints-of-television-part-2-not-as-free-as-you-thought