Tag: Fiction

  • Junior Casting Manager

    Yes, pretty new in the job, still counting in months, if you know what I mean.

    Used to assist casting for toothpaste miracle testimonials. So much easier, ethically. But try looking at six toothy grins per minute, three angles each, for eight hours a day, twelve in emergency recruitment mode, for more than a year… Just try it, before blaming me.

    Campetition is evil, ok, not arguing with that statement.

    But that’s just your normal, globalisation-does-this-to-people-all-the-time variant of evil, ok? It’s actually far more honest than my old job. Teeth don’t grow bigger and more even through brushing, right? See what I mean?

    Advertising is one big storytelling hoax. Whereas in Campetition, people do win. Very few people, as in two, ok. They don’t win much, from our point of view, sure. We’ve already got the passport, the wealthy parents, the education, you name it…

    Your parents aren’t wealthy? Cool! Mine are, and they expect me to earn a living, for all the studying they sponsored. That pressure, all the time, is so killing me. It’s inhumane, really.

    Anyway, yes, Campetition is evil.

    Like the pole dancing task for the girls. We use it in casting, to weed out the shy ones. That’s really, really bad. No one should be forced to pole dance. But now listen to this: They never even complain. None of the girls. Never.

    We’ve of course got an agony aunt, official title Stage Intimacy Counsellor. the agony aunt, she’s present at all times, not just for the sexy scenes. Ours is a clean stage, and backstage. We won’t feature in no #metoo scenario. And guess what? The lady in question is bored stiff, because none of the girls talk to her. Full blown bore out candidate, the poor shrinkess, and whining about it to pretty much everyone she can get hold of. Cornered me on my second day.

    The girls, they see the dresses they are supposed to wear, very revealing dresses, very tight. Are they going “Eek, rampant sexism, down with male chauvinism”? Nope. They go all happy happy wild.

    Just yesterday one asked me “Madam, any chance I can keep this robe?”. “Madam”! Never was I so embarrassed before, really didn’t know where to look. And the so-called robe, it was more negligee than dress, revealing lots of matching underwear, all laces. Would rather get myself shot than be seen in this abomination!

    I told the girl to please call me Beo, and never ever madam again, and asked her if her mom wouldn’t be aghast, at seeing her in this kind of undress-dress. And guess what happens? She laughs, pulls out her phone and shows me her Instagram. Turns out she has a gig as a dessous model, for her mom, who sells sexy wear.

    Meaning to say, it’s all a question of perspective.

    If they get to keep the dresses? Of course not, we’re one a budget!

    Meaning the girls always have to dress before makeup, and they get de-makeupped before they can change back into their own clothes. Always feel sorry for them, when I see them shivering and rubbing their bare arms to feel warmer. We really should provide them with towels, bathrobes, something to keep them warmer, I think. Will raise this issue, once I make senior casting manager.

    I really do need the money, you know? Otherwise, my parents shoot me. Don’t we all need the money, and it makes us do stuff? Just saying, I’m not like the only one in this situation.

  • Task Author 5

    You’re asking me if if feel bad about this job? Really, honestly? You need to ask?! Man, you might have a problem, just saying.

    Of course I do feel asshole. That show, that’s exploitation, that is. Full blown, no holds barred, maximum warp exploitation. The worst of the worst, full stop.

    And no free will involved, on the merch side, guarantee you that.

    Just imagine yourself riding a bicycle against the kind of rain we simulate by targeting the merch with a water canon. That monster, real proper police hardware, mind you, that monster is normally used for crowd control, like after football matches. Totally not like the shower in your bathroom. Hits you like some damned pile of bricks.

    If your free will suggests it might be a nice way to spend prime time cycling against this kind of water wall, you’re more ready for the shrink farm than even me. And competing with a Campetition task author in that segment takes a lot, dearie…

    Merch? Well, the dudes and gals. The fodder for the machine. Those who perform my tasks. In the politely polished words of our liar in chief, otherwise known as The Anchor, with a capital T and A, otherwise he gets you sacked, “our dear participants”.

    For us staffers who keep the machine running, season in, season out, the dudes and gals are merch.

    Merch, as in merchandise, dummy.

    We get fresh merch at the start of the season.

    We bet on how far they go, how long they take to break.

    Oh yes, we do bet, too. Not on the platform, that’s off limits. The old fashioned way, with Jenny from makeup collecting the money and keeping it safe until payday.

    Oh yes, this one lie is truth. Even we Campetition staff, as inside the machine as one can get, even we don’t know the winners in advance. Like everyone else, we can see who might have what it takes, and who only got in to entertain the audience by failing afap. But there’s always more winner potential merch than winning slots. Always.

    Afap? Never heard? As funnily as possible. Highest possible afap factor, of a task-merch combination, with zero risk of the merch getting killed, serious no-no on prime time, that’s what I have to come up with. Remember me the next time you LOL, will you?