Lime Green Bias

“So far we have thirty people in flip flops and shorts, five in winter jackets, twenty-six in sweaters or cardigans, and nineteen with umbrellas.” Julie Rowland scribbled the metrics into her notebook without looking, squinting at the street through her oval shaped-glasses. “Wait, no, make that twenty umbrellas. Or is it twenty-one? What did we decide to do about counting people who share umbrellas?”

“We decided to mark them as a separate category because it means they’re both watching the same network.” You responded hollowly to your coworker, not bothering to look out the window for yourself. “Corporate thought we weren’t being specific enough last month.”

“We weren’t?” The scratching of pen on paper halted. “I thought the month before we were critiqued for being too specific-”

“The colors don’t matter. It’s just about the number of people. Distinguishing between pink and yellow umbrellas didn’t give us the revelatory insight we were looking for.” The stuffy words, the monotonous tone were all a direct recitation of corporate’s criticisms. In truth, these metrics didn’t help in any way, only the accuracy of forecasts would convince diehard fans to jump from one broadcasting station to another. The only thing Julie’s numbers showed was that out of all of the commuters who had walked through Glenn Street on their way to work this morning, a measly five had heard your forecast.

“Okay but,” Julie’s voice became conspiratorial, “would colors matter more if I told you that this couple is using a horrid lime green umbrella with highlighter yellow polka dots?”

- X -

The image of the heinous green and yellow umbrella stayed fixed in your brain even as you got home from work, hanging up your winter coat and gloves before changing into some comfortable pajamas. Fashion trends came and went but even amongst all of the fashion mishaps that had shaken the world (the tracksuits in the 2000s, the clunky sneakers of 2020, the current 2050 trend of inside out jackets, and whatever the Disney Channel kids were wearing) you had never heard of anyone intentionally pairing lime green and highlighter yellow. 

You now stood at your window, glass of scotch in hand, your lips pursed in displeasure as you watched the four categories of Americans walk by your apartment. Well, actually there were five but The American Broadcasting Company had predicted a category four hurricane and recommended everyone shelter in their homes for the next couple of days. You couldn’t help but wonder how many people hadn’t made it onto Julie’s list today since they wouldn’t have been out on the streets to begin with. You took a long swig of your drink, wishing that your network had predicted a hurricane so you could stay home, ignoring the futility of your job. 

There was no excuse for the weather forecasts of today to be wrong. Barometers, thermometers, weather balloons were all made with advanced technology and monitored by trained scientists who collected the data hourly, running it through computer programs to predict, with an exceptionally high level of accuracy, what the weather would be like for the following day. The scientists and their statistics weren’t wrong, inaccuracies were rare, but the issue was that the broadcasting companies just didn’t care about the real forecasts. And there was no means of getting that information outside of one of the companies.

The American Broadcasting Company was testing a new type of television experience (dropping all seventy-five episodes of their new five season show at once). To fully promote the bingeable series, they were warning all of their viewers to stay home, to shelter for the category four hurricane hurtling their way.

The Fox Broadcasting Company was predicting a month of clear skies and summer temperatures in order to encourage people to take vacations and travel to one of their many newly acquired golf club resorts. The Columbia Broadcasting System was predicting cool, autumn temperatures alongside advertising the re-release of the Columbia Starbucks (officially renamed after the acquisition in 2035) favorite, the pumpkin spice latte. And the National Broadcasting Company was warning of massive thunderstorms throughout the week. Coincidentally, Peacock (their streaming service) was creating a new live version of the classic show “Shark Boy and Lava Girl” and introducing a new character, the non-binary “Thunder Kid.” All week the National Broadcasting Company had been forecasting that “Thunder was coming!” 

Your goal, unlike all the corrupt broadcasting companies, was to provide accurate, informative weather forecasts. To enable your viewers to make informed decisions about what they should wear when they left the house in the morning. To help your viewers feel safe in these unprecedented times of not only the thoroughly exhausting consumer market, but also in dealing with the sporadic weather events created by untreated global warming. 

When you were a child you had sat alongside your dad as he watched the Fox Broadcasting Company’s news with cult-like devotion. Even though you were too young to understand all of the segments on politics and the economy, it had been easy to notice that every day your father followed the recommendations of the weather forecast, dressing you in the appropriate attire before sending you off to school where you realized that only a few of your classmates had been dressed the same way.

The monopoly of the big five companies, as they were often labeled in textbooks, was so overwhelming that their control over unrelated business ventures, everything from clothing brands to coffee chains, lead to an unprecedented domination over all forms of media. Everything from the water bottle you drank out of to the manufacturer of your textbooks was controlled by one of the five companies, broadcasting your loyalties. Not only had the companies domineered the new ways of advertisement, but they also began to lack an incentive to tell the truth. Their companies were so secure in their positions in the American market that the words “unbiased,” “impartial,” and “factual” had lost any sense of meaning. 

As early as elementary school, kids began to separate off into groups based entirely on which network your family would tune into at night. You could remember the instant, vitriolic feelings of distrust as you’d been assigned to sit next to someone wearing snow boots while you were in rain galoshes. Even now you often caught yourself subconsciously edging away from people in different weather-related-attire. 

And, of course, you could never forget the day that you had announced you wanted to become a meteorologist. Your parents, for a split second so incredibly proud, were heartbroken as you confessed that despite their love for the Fox Broadcasting Company, you would become an intern at the W Television Network (formerly the CW Television Network before its separation from its parent company in 2034). Since you had gotten a phone of your own, you had been watching the W Television network in secret, inspired by their catchphrase “your real forecast guaranteed.” The network was the smallest of the big five, but becoming an intern for their weather forecast team was your dream come true.

And now, years later, you were one of the faces of the W Television Network as three times a day you stood in front of a green screen, pointing at invisible graphics that illustrated the changing weather pressures and temperatures. It was with a genuine smile that end of every broadcast you would repeat the catchphrase that had seduced you from your familial ties. And then you would head out of the studio, back to your small office where you and Julie would count the people passing by the street, bringing the information to corporate in the hopes that your network could figure out a way to increase your audience. To entice other souls away from the clutches of the larger companies into the quality assurance of your reliable weather forecasts.

But no matter the size of your audience, all that mattered to you, all that had mattered to you when you first found the W Television Network, was the sharing of unbiased weather reports.

- X -

“There are an enormous amount of people in tank tops and sunglasses,” Julie noted, her eyes staring at the street through a pair of rectangular-shaped glasses she had gotten a year ago. “They can’t all be listening to the same company’s forecast.”

“They’re not,” came your easy reply as you scrolled through Buzzfeed National’s (acquired in 2041) latest personality quizzes, taking note of how many times the word summer was used, how many umbrellas littered the screen, and how many steaming hot mugs of cocoa appeared. “At least three of the networks talked about bright, sunny weather in preparation for the upcoming holiday. They want their resorts completely booked.”

Julie just nodded, making more marks in her notebook. “It’s nothing compared to the tank top wearers, but corporate will be please to know that the number of people in rain jackets and fleece jackets is roughly the same.” 

You looked up in surprise. “They are?”

Julie nodded again, her eyes never leaving the street. “Corporate’s new ad campaigns must be working to draw people in.”

You couldn’t stop the satisfied smile that stretched across your face, knowing that all of the people hurrying down the street in rain jackets had listened to “your real forecast guaranteed” this morning. 

“And the color of the rain jackets? Are they-“

“Yes, about half of the people wearing rain jackets are wearing our new North Face sponsored rain jackets.”

You got up out of your chair at that, eager to see for yourself the impact that your forecast had had. And sure enough, there they were, clusters of people going about their day wearing the new rain jackets you had started advertising last month. The lime green and highlighter yellow stripes on the jacket were a combination that was hard to miss. 

- X -