PR Triage For The PR Guy or Gal: or "No One's Listening Anymore!"

In a bar, the location of which is a tightly held secret, “the last real secret that can be managed,” confessed one shaken public relations professional, half a dozen men and women slouch over their martinis, licking their wounds. I was told that most of them were public relations hacks, though there was one attorney sitting by himself at the end of the bar.

It's the middle of the day. Usually a quiet time for PR types who are trying to sooth frayed nerves. So when a cell phone went off the place suddenly looked like a Martha Graham dance routine on meth. One fellow hit the floor and scooted underneath my table.

“Here's the problem,” said an exasperated Carol Gable, sitting across from me. “We're at the End of the Age of Spin!” she said, her hands shaking as she lit a cigarette.

“Hey! You can't smoke in here!” the metrosexual bartender exclaimed.

“Fuck off pretty boy!” she growled. The metro looked like it might cry and headed off to the back. She nodded after him.

“You see? You see that?! That's what I'm talking about! Here, in the 21st century we've reached the nadir!” The expression on this reporter's face let Ms. Gable know that I wasn't following. She sighed, downed her martini then took a long drag on her cigarette.

“American culture – or rather the American moral and ethical framework - has essentially collapsed. Nothing shocks people any more! For God's sake!” she exclaimed, waving her cigarette through the air. “America's first family of White Trash – the Spears Clan – just announced a teen pregnancy and this country didn't blink! There's even some questioning why she should lose her Nickelodeon contract!”

I shrugged, still obviously not putting 2 + tart together. She shook her head. “Don't you get it?” I shrugged again.

“THERE'S NOTHING LEFT FOR US TO SPIN!” She grabbed me by my tie, yanking my head down. Her eyes shot round the place, panic threatening to shatter her botox-frozen features.

“In the old days there was a reason for people like me.” She stubbed out her cigarette and reached for another. She seemed to relax for a moment, easing back into the booth, her eyes looking off into some temporal distance.

“In the old days,” she began again, “the studios controlled this town.” She blew smoke toward the ceiling. “Now there were men who knew what 'grab 'em by the cojones and their hearts and minds are sure to follow' meant!” She took a sip of the fresh martini set in front of her.

Article Author: Marlowe

"You have a somewhat peculiar sense of humor,” he said.
"Not peculiar," I said. "Just uninhibited."

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