Doomsday(?)

I was in the conference room that day.

The conference room had a type of nauseating aroma to it. Like it had been dipped in an immense pool of Clorox. Granted, that was a smell that I had gotten used to in the past few months.

I squirmed in the new chairs that they had brought in over the weekend. The new table was supposed to have a modern design. But all it managed to do is make me hate the conference room. Our CEO said that “Change brings new possibilities. And new possibilities bring more headlines.”

I had been a news anchor long enough that change does absolutely nothing to bring more headlines. It wasn’t like a type of miracle cure for a virus or disease. It wasn’t something that could be turned off and on like a light switch. No. The only way CFN brings more headlines is by our determination, grit, and the most trusted website on the planet for anonymous tips.

The glass door opened, and in came Charlie. He and I met a few years ago at my son’s tennis tournament. Pretty soon, it was like we’d known each other our entire lives. His warm blue eyes and humble demeanor gave off a very amiable impression to anybody he met.

“Wanda.” He nodded. Not unlike me, he set his huge overstuffed binder on the table with a thud. He took off his mask and threw it on the binder. He exhaled for about five seconds, breathing in the fresh air.

Then he gave a violent cough. He sniffed his nose and looked up at me. “I swear, if I have to smell Clorox for another day-”

“Do you know anything about the surprise meeting?” I asked. 

He shook his head while rubbing his nose. “Sinclair’s a man of mysteries. But-”  He patted the binder with his free hand. “Luckily, I came prepared. Did your family do anything for April Fool’s yesterday? And if you’re in the mood for a bet, twenty bucks says the meeting today’s about April Fool’s.”

I scoffed. “You’re on. And please. The only people that celebrate April Fool’s are the young, the innocent, and the unemployed. So my husband did. He changed the computer settings of my Son’s home laptop to French.”

“Well, it’s not the worst prank in the world. Not that you would know. I mean, the worst prank you’ve probably ever done was change the covers of a book in the library.” He chuckled.

Unamused, I asked “Why would you think that? For all I know, I could probably have maybe peed in the lemonade pitcher at my college’s bake sale.”

“Your college had a freaking bake sale?” Tom, our writer asked as he sat down right beside me. He flicked his long blonde hair. “The closest thing our college had to a bake sale was nothing because nobody in their right mind would attend a bake sale when you have a one-hundred page thesis in literature due at the end of the semester.” His hair settled next to his sea green eyes.

Tom fumbled his mask on and I sighed. “That’s not my point.”

“And what exactly is your point? And Tom, twenty bucks bet says the meeting today’s about April Fool’s.“ Charlie concluded, taking out a few papers from his binder.

Tom laughed. “I’m in. Did you guys bring your entire science project to class today? ” gesturing at our binders.

Tom was more lackluster than anybody at CFN, as far as taking important notes and wearing professional outfits go. He was, however, the most dedicated writer on the staff. And the only writer who wears khakis.

The door opened again and in came 4 people, all silent with solemn gazes intensified by their masks. They sat down and brought out their laptop. Their quiet demeanor scared me. So did the thickness of their binders. 

“Does anyone know what this meeting’s about?” Tom asked, his eyes going full puppy dog mode.

I shook my head. I turned around, my mouth ready to ask them Tom’s question. But they stopped me. Or rather, the person they were looking at stopped me.

Donald Sinclair. CEO of more acronyms than any other twenty three  year old in the world. Son to business tycoon Ronald Sinclair and glorified housewife Roberta Sinclair.

His presence however was undeniable. Once everybody else in the room caught sight of his tall stature and surprisingly grim face, the room was filled with cascading silence.

Donald took his mask off as his mouth curled into a grin. “Man, you guys are in a good mood today.” His words dripping with sarcasm. He walked to the center chair and sat down with a sigh. “Let’s get started.  Anyone get anything headlines?”

I raised my hand. “Sir, I have an op-ed for the online magazine about Women’s history month.”

Donald said nothing. I looked at Charlie for support, but he offered nothing. “Um, sir?” I mused.

He shook his head. “What? Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go ahead and publish that. Next.” His detached expression never faded.

Another hand shot up in the air. This time from Tom. “Um, I think we can come up with a better article about that child author. It just seems kind of bland. So maybe you can approve the article transition from Pam’s team to ours?”

Pam shot a dirty look across the table. Tom, however, stayed calm. “It isn’t personal, I just think that our team would do better at it.”

All eyes went to Donald, who still looked like he was in a lucid dream. Finally, he seemed to take note of us staring. “Yeah. Make that happen.” Then he sunk into his dream again.

Charlie, the only person with guts in the room, asked “Sir? You all right?”

Donald looked at him. “I have something on my mind for the past day. Something that gets our ratings up by about 20%. I’ve done the math.”

He got up and set his hands on the table, adding to the dramatic effect of the cliffhanger. “I want to do something related to April Fool’s. I mean, think about it. A huge April Fool’s prank sprung by the largest news network in the country. Maybe even the world. The ramifications would be monumental. So.” He clapped his hands. “What do you think?”

I considered the options. Pick the most reasonable option, which would be to act like April Fool’s day never happened. Or, I could pick the option where I would be least likely to get fired.

The room suddenly filled with an overwhelming chorus of “Absolutely”s and “Definitely”s.

“Ok. That’s settled then. Let’s get to work. And somebody tell the cleaning staff to use less Clorox.” He walked out of the room.

So, yes, I was in the meeting that day where we decided that we were going to pull the biggest April Fool’s prank of all time.

What I didn’t know was that we were going to report that a meteoroid named Paul-105 was going to collide into earth, destroying humanity.

@@@

Nobody at CFN knew what the prank was at first. He had only told Pam and Tom’s teams. It was so serious that they had to sign non-disclosure agreements. 

We scheduled the prank about three days after April Fool’s. I had tried my hand at convincing Tom to tell us what it was. All I managed to extract from him was “It’s big.”

Then, it was showtime. Our staff was reeking with anticipation. As was I. After all, I was the one that was going to deliver the special announcement.

I walked up to my desk and spotlights blared to life. I was given a run-through through all of my reports, except for the prank. They stated that I would have to look at the teleprompter and see for myself.

I heard the teleprompter get wheeled in while my microphone was being put on me. The assistant kept fumbling with it, murmuring to herself.

She managed to put it on. As she walked away, I saw her cross her fingers. “You’re on air in 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. “ I looked at the teleprompter and began. My voice was clearer than I expected. Each syllable sounded crystal clear.

I began my news report. As the teleprompter was inputted with new words, I braced myself for the prank. I knew that pranks couldn’t be harmful. But I had a bad feeling about this one. 

Once I finished the segment on the child author, I saw a flash off movement in the corner of my eyes. I looked up at the pristine glass office and I saw the unmistakable silhouette of Sinclair approach the glass pane. His eyes were fixed on me.

I looked at the teleprompter. 

And the words came up.

There’s no way I’m saying that. I thought to myself as the words kept flowing up like a steady river on the teleprompter, revealing the full paragraph.

Then I looked at Sinclair in the window. 

Here we go…

@@@

I woke up with drool all over my face and over the conference room table. Tom was in a similar position while Charlie was on the phone.

“Sir, the report was a technical error experienced across most of the news networks across the country. There is no need for panic, it's a false alarm.” He stated. After a few seconds of silence, he threw the phone across the room with a grunt. 

He looked at me and solemnly groaned. “That was the white house correspondent. They’re escorting the president into the white house’s blast chambers.”

I sighed. “We are never going to recover from this.”

I looked at Times Square where there was a “Doomsday clock”. It read ten minutes left until Earth was obliterated. I looked below it at the massive crowd of panic shoppers, who were spending their last ten minutes alive buying toilet paper. Even from far away, their faces were angry, indifferent. 

Wild.

I took out my phone and called my husband. I heard someone pick up. But it wasn’t him. “Mommy?” I shuddered. The little one was only four years old. 

“Yes? Mommy’s here.” I assured him.

“I’m scared mommy. I don’t want to die.” He started crying, a sound that no parent should ever hear.

I choked up. “Listen baby, nothing’s going to happen to you. Alright?”

He sniffled. “Ok mommy. Come home soon.” He finished before hanging up the phone. 

I threw the phone on the ground. It got destroyed with a crash. I looked up, my mouth frothing with rage. “Where’s Donald Sinclair?”

@@@

The coward was holed up in his office holding a golfing trophy. Figures.

I kicked the door open. “I just want you to tell me one thing. Why the heck would you think that telling anybody that the world was ending was remotely a good prank?  Just why? I mean, if you’re going to issue a report that the world was ending, at least make sure that the world. Is. Actually. Ending! I mean, look out there!” 

I gestured outside. “Thousands of people are killing themselves over a prank. A PRANK!” I scoffed. “You know what. You aren’t fit to be a CEO. You don’t know half the stuff you’re doing. I mean, you run a news network. People all across the country rely on us. You can’t mess up. But that’s all you do.” 

“So why don’t you do me, sorry us, a favor and submit your resignation letter to the board of directors. I mean, once the president comes out of the blast shelter, he’s gonna ask for the same thing. So why don’t you have a head start?” I finished my spiel, my fist sore from banging the table.

He looked up at me. His eyes were red and his body frail. I had never seen him like that. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to defend himself. Then he realized that he couldn’t.

The chair creaked as he got up. He walked over to his private fireplace and grabbed the piece of paper on the mantelpiece. He chuckled. “Well, I’m one step ahead of you.”

He handed me the paper. “I’m taking full responsibility for this mess. If anybody’s going to jail, it’s going to be me. Oh, and if you read the bottom right there-” He pointed above his signature on the lower right corner. “It states that you are to receive my job once my resignation has been approved and shouted from the rooftops. I mean, if the whole company doesn’t go down the drain.”

I said nothing. Or rather, I couldn’t say anything. “Even though I’ve only worked here for three years, well, you’ve worked here for twenty. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. Heck, you’ve given me advice.” He reasoned. He went over to his empty desk and collected the box on top of it.

He walked to the door, then turned around. He gave a small chuckle. He inspected the trophy. The statue mimicked holding a golf club.

He gave another chuckle, but his eyes never left the statue. “The guys that were my biggest competition were both Swedish brothers. Bald heads and icy blue eyes. On my final hole, I twisted my ankle while swinging.” He addressed my puzzled face. “I had a weird follow-through.” His gaze returned to the statue, almost as if he could relive the events of that day through its reflection. “I had to get the ball into the hole with only one more swing. Then I would win.” He looked at me. “And as you can see, I did. But I aggravated that injury so much that it jeopardized my entire golf career.”

He put the trophy back into the box. “That was the only time I managed to please him. And that’s why I wanted to pull that prank. The numbers ever since I became CEO had gone down tremendously. But no. He didn’t care that I had beat Walmart and Costco combined in sales last year with Triple C. No. He didn’t care that I beat them both at half their budget. No. See, he had become a billionaire because of news. So that’s all he cared about. C. F. N.”

He looked at me. “God, that sounded so cliched. I mean, I get angry every time someone in Hollywood does that. And here I am...”

I managed a chuckle. “What about your mom?” I asked.

He scoffed. “Oh please. We both know that she’s a glorified housewife.”

And with that, he walked out of my office, leaving my mind with an array of emotions.

@@@

Donald Sinclair was given the electric chair for his unintended crimes against humanity. His last request was that he be holding his golf trophy. It was fulfilled. 

Robert Sinclair declared CFN and a couple of other companies previously owned by Donald bankrupt.

All private military contracts held by Robert Sinclair’s ZFZ were terminated, effective immediately on request from the president himself. He denied to issue any other statements about the situation.

Overall, the total death toll of Fake Doomsday was 1,586,203. 

@@@

I opened the door and hoisted myself on top of the conference room table. The loose papers flew off the sides. I looked around. 

Pandemonium.

Dozens of people emptied out their desks while their ears were stuck to the phone, hoping to get that job in Phoenix or Atlanta. I never knew that tears could smell so toxic. 

Tom jumped on the table with a huge thunk. “Hey.” I protested.

He leaned back and looked up at the light above. “Hey. I don’t work here anymore. I can do whatever I want.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Well I’d like to see what you would do.” I leaned back as well, the surprising serenity calming my nerves about the new job.

CNN heard about Donald’s recommendation. Even though he was a mass murderer, his word still had power. Plus, their CEO was one of the unfortunate sum who died during “Fake Doomsday”, as it was now being dubbed. I personally thought that it deserved a better nickname. Tom could come up with something better.

“You aren’t worried about unemployment?” I pondered. “Not even a little?”

He laughed. “Heck yeah I’m worried. I got an interview with CNN, but still. Petrified.”

I nudged him. “Well maybe I can give you a recommendation. I am after all the CEO there.”

Tom got up, a confused look on his face. “Tell me you’re joking.” My mouth curled up into a grin. I shook my head. Tom laughed and fell down on the table again, causing an even bigger thunk.

Charlie entered the room. “You didn’t know? Wow. Guess she prioritizes me over you.”

“Hampton, don’t me come over there and erase the competition.” Tom sneered.

Charlie mimicked our positions on the table. “So you admit there’s competition? And by the way, I got a job at CNN.”

Tom groaned. “You too? God, it’s like we’re inseparable.”

I laughed. “Got that right. Ready to wreak havoc over there?” I asked. 

Tom scoffed. “Obviously.”, while Charlie answered. “You betcha.”

We laid there in silence, our desks cleaned up and our minds anew. Part of me was, again. Nervous. But it was for the best. After all, everything is.

“By the way, both of you guys still owe me twenty dollars.”