Showmanship

16 - Shut The Hell Up Rob and I Have to Make Fruitsalad Now

Shut The Hell Up Rob

   Christine headed to her first meeting about the finale product of the show. One of the hardest parts of finishing a show was getting the people to actually allow it to finish.

   Around March in other areas it gets slightly warmer and the flowers start to bud, but since it's only one season in L.A Christine could wear the same cardigan she wears everywhere. That signature, loose knit, grey cardigan made the secretary know immediately who was walking in the room - their star pupil.

   Creative geniuses aren't ignored, as much as Portland might want you to think. They're work is noticed. Christine was a money maker. There wasn't much the executives wouldn't do to keep her show a float.

    "Just head right in," The Secretary chirped out. Optimism had to be put on her pay grade.

   Christine's black ankle boots clopped on the marble floor as she walked towards the stain white door. This office approved the minimalist style, so it was good she didn't have to wait. There wasn't much to stare at.

   The two executives sat at the back of a long oak table. As Christine creaked the door open they turned to stare at her.

   Mr. Blue, the more calm of the due, motioned Christine to come sit beside him. He had worked in WWE, not as a wrestler but an announcer, which set of his career. He was a strong man who had a strong temper, and one day he got so angry about his pension that he cracked a table in half with his fists.

   He immediately got attention for his mental issues and became the calmest most patient man Netflix ever had to work for them. He knew what the public wanted to see on T.V, and that was people getting the shit beat out of them because the general public couldn't do that themselves.

   Mr. Red was a different story. He was a short and thin man, who, when angry enough was rumored to throw chairs at you. He had this hulk like strength erupt from him when he didn't like the show you were pitching, and it didn't take a lot for him to not like a show.

   That was what was happening right now. A man in a Hawaiian shirt had only brought three things for his presentation - a bottle of Gatorade, a pack of cigarettes, and a stuffed animal that was supposed to resembled roadkill.

   Mr. Red's face was the color of his name out of anger.

   "Who the hell would want to watch that?!" He screamed out. Christine sat calmly in her seat. She knew she was untouchable.

    "You didn't even hear the scene where they first meet the-"

   "The monster! Yeah I get it," Mr. Red was all bark and bite. Christine started to see him eyeing up a chair.

   "It's an alien actually," the man corrected.

    Mr. Red leaned his head down on a table and started to rub his temples. "So what your telling me, Rob, is that they get alien babies from drinking Gatorade. That is -" he sighed in his hands again. "That is the show you are pitching me."

   "Yes."

  Mr. Red leaned back on the chair he had thought about throwing. "Oh my fucking god-"

   Rob didn't get the hint. "It would be great if we could get the actual rights to Gatorade, but I think we should probably go with a fake name so-"

   Mr. Red mumbled something into his hands.

   Rob stopped talking. "Sorry, What?"

   "Get out of my office."