When she first took up the job of Editrix-in-Chief of the Alternate Reality News Service, Brenda Bruntland-Govanni asked for and was given an office near the editorial bullpen. She reasoned that if she could be close to where her writers were, she could better keep them in line. It took about five minutes of actual experience for her to realize the error in her thinking: close physical proximity meant that all of the writers and editors in the bullpen had easy access to her to ask her annoying and, usually, meaningless questions. As a result, she had asked (then begged and finally pleaded with) Mikhail Lo-Fi to move her to an office on another floor. He had always been sympathetic to her request, but, for some vague reason, had also always been unable to honour it.
Although most ARNS writers had been stranded in alternate universes when the Dimensional PortalTM had to be shut down when it unexpectedly started spewing Bob Smiths into their home universe, force of habit caused Brenda Bruntland-Govanni to rush past the bullpen as quickly as her legs could carry her. As usual, this was not quick enough. "Ms. Bruntland-Govanni?" a southern drawl lassoed her. "May I have a word?"
The drawl belonged to an ancient and somewhat decrepit man named "Pops" Moobly. Nobody in the Service could decide which habit of Pops Moobly was more disconcerting: his tendency to stare blankly into space for several minutes at a stretch, or his habit of nodding off ten minutes before an issue was scheduled to be put to bed. As chief copy editor, this habit was a major concern of Brenda Bruntland-Govanni, who couldn't get last minute changes to copy made because she was afraid that if she tried to wake Pops Moobly too abruptly, he would die on her, and management had made it clear when she took the job that corpses in the offices were totally unacceptable. If she had the time, she made final editorial changes in copy herself; most of the time, however, she had to let the text go out as it was.
Another thing nobody in the office could figure out is why Pops Moobly hadn't been fired long ago. Most people knew that Pops Moobly had been with the Alternate Reality News Service since before the beginning; many assumed that he had sufficient seniority that he could only be fired by god or the Prime Minister, and they both preferred to work in mysterious ways. As it happened, Pops Moobly had once rescued Mikhail Lo-Fi from an island full of homicidal Japanese schoolchildren, and the Alternate Reality News Service CEO assured him that, in return, he could have whatever job with the company he wanted for as long as he wanted it.
As it also happened, Pops Moobly's strange behaviour was a smokescreen; if his co-workers thought he was traveling along the border of senility with a one-way ticket, they wouldn't realize that he was actually in complete control of the Alternate Reality News Service's copy. All of the strange quirks of Alternate Reality News Service text, the rambling paragraphs that ended abruptly, the quotes that sometimes seemed at war with the exposition, the bizarre choices of sources – what had often been called "the inexplicable Alternate Reality News Service house style" – were allowed and encouraged by Pops Moobly.
Staring into space was his way of discouraging his superiors, especially Brenda Bruntland-Govanni, from resubmitting copy that he had already passed on. Feigning being asleep close to deadline, was, of course, his way of avoiding making last minute editorial changes with which he disagreed. Unbeknownst to everybody but Mikhail Lo-Fi, he had been given access to all of the computer accounts in the building, which allowed him to check copy before it went to press. How the quirks they thought they had removed from reporters' text always seemed to reappear just before publication was, to other staffers, a complete mystery.
Everybody seemed to hate the house style...except readers. Thus...
"Hey, Pops," Brenda Bruntland-Govanni, popping her head into the bullpen, said. "I'm really busy right now –"
"Have you ever considered the weight of information?" Pops Moobly asked with equanimity.
"I'm sorry. I'm not a Buddhist," Brenda Bruntland-Govanni replied.
"Fine religion, Buddhism," Pops Moobly genially stated. "Although I don't rightly believe that it has anything to do with the point I'm trying to get across to you."
"The weight of information. Right." Brenda Bruntland-Govanni waved a finger at Pops Moobly. "I'll give that some serious thought."
"You do that," Pops Moobly told her. "It could just be the solution to your problem."
"Alrighty, then." Brenda Bruntland-Govanni turned to go and immediately ran into Indira Charunder-Macharrundeira. Each Alternate Reality News Service employee was required to take two weeks off for every six months in the field. Charunder-Macharrundeira, the Alternate Reality News Service' Fine Arts reporter, had been in the sixth hour of her leave when the Dimensional PortalTM had to shut down.
"Is...is...is it w...w...w...working again?" Charunder-Macharrundeira nervously asked.
"The Dimensional PortalTM?" asked Brenda Bruntland-Govanni. She couldn't help but notice that Charunder-Macharrundeira, a relatively small woman, was shaking so much that she practically doubled her width, which would have made her a much less attractive target for a bear attack (had one been in progress).
"Y...y...yes," Charunder-Macharrundeira replied. Her eyes were blinking so quickly, you would have thought she was trying to use Morse Code to send the entire text of War and Peace to somebody before the conversation ended. "Can I – can I g...g...g...go back?"
"I...I'm sorry, Indira," Brenda Bruntland-Govanni told her. "We're still trying to determine what happened and how we can fix it."
"W...w...w...w...w..."
"When will it be fixed?" Brenda Bruntland-Govanni interjected. Charunder-Macharrundeira nodded gratefully. Brenda Bruntland-Govanni shook her head sadly. She had seen this before: alternate reality withdrawal. Before they are hired, Alternate Reality News Service reporters are put through a battery of psychological tests to ensure that they are fully grounded in this reality. It doesn't help. Sooner or later, the thrill of hopping from one fascinating universe to another makes the home universe seem dull by comparison. (The two week off rule was instituted in an attempt to forestall this, and – who knows? – maybe for some employees it actually did.)
Alternate reality – more addictive than crack.
Brenda Bruntland-Govanni put what she hoped was a comforting hand on Charunder-Macharrundeira's shoulder. (She stooped this time to ensure that her hand landed where she had actually aimed it.) "I'd like you to make an appointment with Doctor Brush-Feyer," she gently suggested. "He –"
"D...d...doctor?" Charunder-Macharrundeira protested. "I...I...I don't n...n...n...n...n...n...n – okay. M...m...maybe..."
Nicholas Brush-Feyer, the Alternate Reality News Service's staff physician, was the doctor who administered the pointless psychological tests; this allowed him to develop a relationship of trust with the employees so that, when the time came to treat them for alternate reality withdrawal, they would let him (which, when you think about it, means the tests weren't entirely pointless, doesn't it?). At various times, Brenda Bruntland-Govanni had heard that the cure for alternate reality withdrawal involved anti-psychotic drugs, operant conditioning and prolonged exposure to a tape of George Burns reading the Kama Sutra. She didn't inquire too closely. Nor did she have to: all she needed to know was that people who went through the cure either quit the Alternate Reality News Service or went back to work, but they never suffered from alternate reality withdrawal again.
"Uhh..." Brenda Bruntland-Govanni looked around, but there was only one other person in the vicinity. "Pops, could you take Indira down to the third floor?"
"Might as well," Pops Moobly responded. "Not much editing going on around here at the moment..." In order to keep up appearances, he had tried to sound irritated, but it came across nasally, as if he had a cold. Overcompensating, he made a big show of getting out of his chair. Had her mind not been on other things, Brenda Bruntland-Govanni might have noticed the artifice.
Ten minutes later, having watched Charunder-Macharrundeira and Pops Moobly get on the elevator at the end of the hall, Brenda Bruntland-Govanni spun not so smartly on her heel and nearly twisted her ankle. In her pain, she hesitated in full view of her office door. It wasn't the vagueness with which Mikhail Lo-Fi managed to avoid her requests to move to a different office, although if she were honest that did play its part. Perhaps it was the fact that traveling to and from the Downsview warehouse had taken a long time, and it was already close to eight o'clock. Mostly, though, it was the fact that her mother had asked her to bring home some milk.
Yes, Brenda Bruntland-Govanni, justifiably feared editrix-in-chief of the Alternate Reality News Service, lived with her mother. It was a temporary arrangement, done primarily for financial reasons, and, in any case, it's not like she is under any obligation to explain it to you.
Brenda Bruntland-Govanni spun on her heel, not much more smartly but now with sufficient native cunning to avoid the possibility of injuring herself, and headed home.