I did not think that I was cut out to be a reporter. My spelling is atrocious and I take terrible notes. I cannot write and ask questions at the same time. So people that I interview usually have to wait while I jot their answers down. This makes me uncomfortable, especially as they look around for an escape route, so I tend to rush my notes and don't always get them right.
But, I explained all this to the editor and he seemed unconcerned. "The point is to get the story, my boy," he boomed at me one day. "If you can get it right, as well, then so much the better". I asked one day why he hired me given that I am so poorly suited for the job.
"You have a terrific imagination, my boy," he boomed at me again. "Things are sometimes a little slow in Foggy Bottom and, if there is no story, I am confident that you will have the wherewithal to just make one up."
The editor is Mr. Nathaniel Higgenbothom. If he happens to be in one of his good moods, he will insist that everyone call him Higgy. But those moods are rare and his usual demeanor is pompous and pretentious. He sees himself as the last bastion of concern for great literature and sees his mission in life to hold the tide against the debilitating chaos that has crept into literature since the end of the 19th century.
I don't like calling him Higgy. And I try to avoid getting dragged into an argument where I have to defend 20th century literature. Higgenbothom is passionate in his distain for all things postmodern. If I say anything positive at all about anything that occurred after the death of Queen Victoria, he will immediately hold me personally responsible for the decline in literature and culture, two world wars, the bomb, and the oppressive reign of the technological elite. It is a heavy burden for me to bear. So, I usually just call him Mr. Higgenbothom in respectful and deferential tones.
I strongly suspect that this is not his real name. He is a devoted fan of Charles Dickens and, as far as I can tell, his second goal in life is to act out every one of Dickens major characters at as many inappropriate times as possible. It would make my job so much easier if he would just wear a sign saying "Today I am Pumblechook" or "Today I am Gradgrind" or "Today I am Oliver Twist" so I would know with whom I was dealing. But he chooses to keep all of this a secret from me and in fact claims that these personality changes are all merely a product of my fertile imagination.
"That is why I hired you, boy," he boomed at me one day. "You have a fertile imagination!"
The editorial assistant is Sally Nestermeyer. She is 63 years old and has a wardrobe that consist, as far as I can tell, of a series of loose fitting dresses that appear to have been converted from old windsocks. I don't know why Higgenbothom ever hired her to be his assistant. Her typing is worse than my spelling and she seems to have a suppressed desire to do harm to Higgenbothom. She hisses criticisms behind his back and makes faces while he is talking as long as he is looking in another direction.
Once, I came in early and found Sally standing on a footstool behind Higgenbothom's chair precariously balancing a large book on a shelf near the top. Higgenbothom came in, gleeful over having landed an advertising sale from the local deli. He danced from one tiptoe to the other, swirled around and literally threw his posterior into the chair. The chair rolled back and crashed into the bookcase causing the precariously balanced book to come tumbling down, smacking Higgenbothom on the head. Sally giggled fiendishly at the sight and then got control of her self. She miraculously regained her stony professional composure and went back to her typing. Since I could see over her shoulder, I could see that as she sat there with all the seriousness of a legal secretary, she was typing over and over - HA. HA. HA! HA. HA. HA!
Higgenbothom took the event to be a message from the master. "Well, well", he intoned, as he picked up the book carefully marking the page to which it had opened. "I wonder what message Mr. Dickens has for me today?" He then proceeded to read to himself, mumbling with his lips moving. He rocked back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk for greater comfort. Before he had occasion to turn the page he was snoring loudly with the book lying open across the expanse of his stomach.
Sally appeared to be ignoring him completely as she continued to bang out on her keyboard - HA. HA. HA! HA. HA. HA!
I don't want to make Sally appear any more odd than she really is, but I don't think that would be possible. She is loathe to express her true thoughts and feelings to people because, in the past, such revelations have resulted only in odd looks and future avoidance. So all of the suppressed information comes out in the form of two most unfortunate ticks. This first tick is a slight sideways jerking of her head. This happens when she is totally absorbed in what somebody else is saying. Apparently she can control it when she thinks about it, but when she gets absorbed in what somebody is saying her head will start moving in ever so slow jerks to the side. This gives the appearance that she is shaking her head to indicate that she does not agree with what the other person is saying. When, in reality, she probably agrees with them 100%. The second tick is in her right eye. When she really despises someone she tries not to let on, but the tick always tells. Unfortunately for her, the tick appears to be a wink and the person for whom she has nothing but contempt is led to believe that she is trying, perhaps awkwardly, to flirt with them.
That may be enough to put the ordinary person on the fringes of polite society. But that is not enough for Sally Nestermeyer. Sally is an avid adherent to every imaginable conspiracy theory and, in her own odd way, a health nut. But, I haven't the time to go into that now. I came in early because I have an exciting assignment.
Mr. Higgenbothom asked me to do a story on the origins of Foggy Bottom. It is an exciting assignment because we all take our environs and our circumstances for granted. We don't know where we came from nor where we are going. History provides the panorama on which we can locate our selves. So I am eager to get started.