Chapter 14.
Fred the I.T guy rigged up my camera harness for yet another day of ‘Office Dog’. It reminded me of those days when I was with the K9 squad, gearing up for a drug bust. Although being shot at, was beginning to feel like a lot more fun, than another day working on ‘Office Dog’. After a week of wandering around an office doing nothing, I was very bored. I spent as much time as possible under one of the producer’s desks. Lyla was happy to have me hideout between her feet. No one else knew why I slept under that particular desk but it was because her bag always smelled of meat. She told others that she was a dog whisperer – she wasn’t. Most of the other humans working in the office ate bean curd, tofu and salads but Lyla liked roast beef sandwiches and meatloaf. I always felt hungry under her desk. Flowers rallied the staff into a large group. He smelled worried.
“Ok people, listen up,” he said sternly. “We’re going to have to lift the game, a lot. And when I say we, I mean you. All of you. And not a little, but a boat load. From what we’ve seen of the footage coming from Sparky’s onboard, one word, dullsville. Personally if I was sitting in a nursing home with my Gram Gram watching jelly set, it’d be more exciting, than watching more of what I’ve seen. So, we’re going to have to get creative.”
Doug, the heavily tattooed producer asked, “What do you mean by creative? Didn’t you tell us not to act up to camera before?”
“Ok, I may have said don’t act up to camera, but I wasn’t expecting Night of the Living Dead for crissakes. I’ve seen more entertainment in a goddam morgue.”
Flowers was nervous. I could smell his fear. Humans expire a very specific scent when they experience fear and he was bathed in it. No one seemed interested – they were being asked become part of the same malarkey, that they were slopping out to the masses. It felt like a busman’s holiday.
“To clarify, from now on when you see Sparky come your way, that is your cue to be fun. Be entertaining,” Flowers said sternly. “Am I crystal? Clear that is.”
There was a confused grunt from the mob.
Mike, a heavyset graphic designer asked, “What do you suggest we do? What do you mean by entertaining? We’re not actors.”
“Well you’re a big guy Mike, maybe you could roll around on the floor with Sparky. You know wrestle a bit with him and then go back to your desk as if it’s an impromptu interaction. A big guy with a Beagle rolling around would be funny. And no, I’m not body-shaming you, I’m just stating the obvious. You’re a big guy Mike.”
“I have back problems. I can’t go rolling around the floor with a dog,” Mike said.
“Then figure out something else you can do, that involves more than feeding him donuts. That’s just not fun Mike. Not fun at all. A few more weeks of that and Sparky is going to be mainlining insulin.”
There was a collective gasp.
“What? Am I being unreasonable?” Flowers asked.
“And what about the rest of us?” Kelly, the photographer asked. “Can you be more specific as to what you want us to do?”
“Didn’t I hear someone say that you played the flute? Walk past him and pull your flute out and play a little. That type of thing. Throw in a little dance, with a pied piper type of touch, wouldn’t kill you would it? You know, funny.”
She frowned and shook her head, like Flowers had been speaking in a different language.
Tami, the brand manager asked, “To be clear, we have to be funny with Sparky or just do stuff with him?”
Jesus, just interact with the fucking dog. It’s not rocket science. If I make it any easier, I’ll have to go buy you a goddam pillow and a blanket,” Flowers snapped.
“Gotcha,” Tami said angrily.
“Mr. Spinks is away this week and we have exactly six days left to beta test this format. I’m going to do my best to make sure no one loses their jobs, should the show not hit its required numbers but I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Lose jobs! What are you talking about?” Kelly asked.
A choir of grumbles drowned out Flowers’ further attempts of reassurance.
“People, people, I’m just the messenger here. Mr. Spinks, has left very specific goals to be achieved and if those are not met, then I hate to say it but there will be a reduction in headcount.”
I didn’t know exactly what was happening but the room wreaked of that same scent that was rolling off Flowers and it was increasing rapidly. People shifted their gaze to me, like I was supposed to do something.
One of the older employees at the back of the crowd asked. “What does a win take?”
“We’ll be audience testing a cut of the footage from Sparky’s onboard camera and if they find it engaging and more importantly entertaining then we’ll green-light it for a season. If not then it’s..... ”
“So, all or nothing?” the older man said solemnly.
“That’s correct,” Flowers said. “Now, I think that’s all that needs saying, so let’s get back to work everyone.”
The group dispersed quietly. One young designer came up to me and pulled some faces – she looked like she was trying too hard. Mike the big guy, came over with one of his colleagues. They both stopped and stared glumly down at me. Mike was like a giant statue hovering over me – like one of those that you seen in the park.
He said, “You know, maybe one way to boost ratings is if we lynch Flowers live on TV. That’ll tickle the mob. Get us some points. You know add a little flavour – it’d be funny, right?.”
His colleague pointed at me and made a hand signal that they were being recorded.
“Dude, at this stage, I don’t give a fuck,” Mike said, peering into my onboard camera. “You hear that? This is no way to create a new show. He should have just put a goddam gun to my head and said, dance monkey dance. Can you believe that guy telling me to get down an wrestle with a dog?”
Big Mike wheezed his way into kneeling position. He wobbled to keep balance and patted me on the head.
“Don’t take it personally Sparky, or Chumley or whatever your name is. You’re a cool dog. It’s us humans that are the assholes,” he said, ruffling my ears..
Doug walked past and said “Hey Mike, you need to get yourself one of those Mexican luchadore masks. I want a good clean fight and no eye gouging. Just make it funny.”
“Yeah gouge this,” Mike said grabbing his crotch.
He pushed himself back up onto his feet.
“You know if we crack this dog’s camera open, I’m sure he be like a canine piñata for lawsuits.”
Big Mike’s colleague looked worried. He waved him off that he wasn’t interested. Big Mike wagged his index finger at my onboard camera, then angrily flipped me the bird. He shuffled back to his desk. One of the writers of one of the reality TV shows arrived with three apples and began juggling in front of me. She dropped her apples after her first attempt. They rolled away under a few cubicles. She looked like she was about to cry. I’d witnessed enough human misery for one day. I stole away and hid under Lyla’s desk. The scent of overcooked meatloaf was the my most comforting experience of the day. I thought about my family and I wanted to be with them. I didn’t want to be in this place anymore.