Waste of Space Read online

  Clayton: Whatcha got there?

  Nico: Oh, my—it’s a camera. Thing.

  Clayton: You brought a camera to a TV show?

  Nico: Just for, like, personal video diaries and stuff.

  [There is a piggish squeal from the bathroom, followed by a “Never mind, I got him!” Clayton takes no notice of the commotion, but rather keeps his eyes locked on Nico and takes a step closer.]

  Clayton: So do you think I’m insane?

  Nico: What?

  Clayton: I heard what you said. Train wreck, etcetera. [walking all the way into the room, keeping his eye on Nico] You’re one of the quiet ones, huh? Playing everything close to the vest?

  Nico: Um—

  Clayton: Not a fan of that, I gotta say. I like to know where people stand. What they’re thinking.

  [Clayton drops his Nike bag onto the floor. It lands with a heavy thud. Nico stares at it.]

  Clayton: Wondering what’s in my bag?

  Nico: Uh . . . a little.

  Clayton: [clucking his tongue] It isn’t wise to pry into my affairs like that.

  [There is another shriek in the hallway. Bacardi appears in the doorway, her face flushed.]

  Bacardi: Clayton, there you are!

  [Clayton’s sneer transforms into a debonair smile, Nico all but forgotten.]

  Clayton: Hey, babe.

  Bacardi: [realizing where she is] Ooh, the bedroom. I call the big bed!

  With a squeal, Bacardi tackles Clayton onto the king-size mattress. The rest of the cast hears the commotion in the bedroom and has a simultaneous panicked realization that it’s time for a cutthroat game of Musical Chairs: Bedroom Edition. They rush in to claim the remaining spots, with Titania and Kaoru scoring the other two top bunks, and Jamarkus, Matt, and Snout getting the bottoms. Louise and Hibiscus are the last to arrive, consequently becoming the losers who must share the big bed with Clayton and Bacardi. Grumbling, they gingerly place their pillows on either side of the couple, who are already canoodling in the center.

  Jamarkus: So, while we’re all gathered here—why don’t we go around the room and talk about our things?

  Snout: Our . . . things?

  Jamarkus: Our hobbies! Our passions! The things we do that aren’t school, homework, sleep, texting, eating, or breathing! My thing is space stuff. And flight simulators. Bacardi, what about you?

  [Bacardi drags her lips off Clayton’s.]

  Bacardi: My thing’s internet. I bet I have more likes and shares and followers than all you combined!

  Louise: [sarcastically] There’s a worthy accomplishment.

  Bacardi: Shutup, geek squad. I got eyes and ears and body parts in all digital corners of everywhere. I got so many hookups I could be a goddamn spy. [pointing at Camera #8] Youhear that, CIA?

  Snout: My thing is farming!

  Louise: My thing is Cosmic Crusades.

  Matt: I don’t have a thing. Pretzels, maybe? I work at a pretzel store—

  Hibiscus: [shouting at her bedmates] You know what my thing is? Personal space. Something I am woefully lacking right now.

  [She tugs on the blanket, pulling most of it to her side of the big bed. Undaunted, Clayton and Bacardi go back to snuggling.]

  Jamarkus: Titania, what about you?

  Titania: I make stuff out of wood.

  Snout: Really?

  Titania: Yep.

  Matt: That’s so cool. Like what?

  Titania: Tables. Chairs. A secret hidden doorway.

  Louise: No way! I’ve always wanted one of those.

  Titania: So did my little sister. I put one in the back of her closet—it blended right in with the wall panels. The only way you’d know it was there was if you knocked on it and could tell that there was a hollow patch. It led to a tunnel to the attic.

  Jamarkus: Very impressive. What else have you made?

  Titania: Last summer I carved a canoe out of a tree.

  Snout: Good gravy. A functional canoe?

  Titania: Depends on the function. Did it float? Yes. Did it get me to where I wanted to go? No.

  Nico: Where did you want to go?

  [As it’s the first time Nico’s spoken in front of the whole group, Titania looks directly at him.]

  Titania: Away.

  Nico: Anywhere specific?

  Titania: Nope. Just away.

  From there, the evening peters out. Despite a few fights erupting over bathroom procedures—some want to shower, some take too long to brush their teeth, some just want to poop in peace—the night draws to an uneventful close.

  At 11:00 p.m. Pacific time, the robot voice announces “BEDTIME IMMINENT.” Five minutes later, there are a series of strident beeps, followed by a not-so-soothing “LIGHTS OUT.” Online viewers watch as the bathroom, spa, kitchen, and airlock camera feeds go dark, except for a strip of green emergency lights along the floor. As for the rest: the bedroom camera, number 8, is outfitted with night vision; the Lünar Lounge cameras—numbers 2, 3, and 4—are mostly dark, with a bit of ambient light spilling in from the Windows Window; and the Confessional Closet stays fully lit, camera 7 ready to capture any spewing of emotions, night or day.

  That first night, it gets a visitor at around three a.m.

  Source: Camera #7—Confessional Closet

  Titania: Well, I’ve kept moving. I’ve kept exploring.

  About as far as a person can, I guess.

  I—

  [She looks down and pinches a bit of her pewter sleeve between her fingers. When she looks back up at the camera, her expression is vulnerable.]

  I came in here wanting to talk directly to my parents, but now that this camera’s staring back at me, that seems kind of stupid and contrived, and not very . . . confidential. What with the whole country listening in and all.

  [She stops fiddling with her sleeve and wipes her hands on her pants.]

  I can’t believe I’m really here. On this show. In space. [She smirks.] Allegedly.

  When I think about all the thousands—hundreds of thousands; millions, maybe—of choices I’ve made that led up to me being here at this very moment, it’s . . . the sheer volume is crushing. And if I’d chosen differently for any one of them, I probably wouldn’t be here at all . . .

  [She trails off.]

  You know how you see your biggest choices more clearly than the rest? Like with high-definition detail? They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, but I think it’s sharper than that. It’s like looking under an electron freaking microscope. Every fiber, every molecule, every atom. At that level of scrutiny, you don’t ask yourself the big questions anymore. You don’t wonder what would have happened if you’d said no instead of yes. You ask yourself what would have happened if you’d said yes a millisecond later. Would that have made a difference? If you’d moved a centimeter to the right or a sixteenth of an inch to the left, would the outcome be the same?

  Such little things.

  [She blows out a puff of air and laughs at herself.]

  I blame quantum mechanics. That whole separate branch of physics that needed to be discovered when scientists realized that if you shrink your focus down to the smallest possible planes of existence, the basic laws of science fall apart and break down and don’t apply anymore. Like the tiniest things in our universe are looking back up at us, telling us they’re not going to play by our rules, and giving us the finger—

  [The door opens.]

  Nico: Oh crap. Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.

  Titania: It’s okay. I’m just rambling on about . . . physics. Or something.

  Nico: [rubbing his eyes] I couldn’t sleep.

  Titania: Me neither.

  Nico: Okay. Sorry to bother you.

  Titania: Wait. Stay.

  [Titania moves to sit on the floor, with her back against the side wall, feet against the wheels of the leather stool. After a moment’s hesitation, Nico sits down on the floor, his back against the other side wall. From the camera’s perspective, they are both in proffle, facin
g each other.]

  Nico: Now what?

  Titania: You came to the Confessional Closet. Confess something. All of America is listening.

  [Nico looks at the camera, then quickly looks away.]

  Titania: Sorry. You don’t have to.

  Nico: No, I will. At some point. I just—I’m not great with . . .

  Titania: Talking?

  Nico: Yeah. I mean, I don’t even know how to talk to you yet. How am I supposed to talk to all of America?

  Titania: Fair enough.

  [pause]

  Titania: We could waste America’s time instead.

  [Nico raises his eyebrows.]

  Titania: Ninety-nine bottles of Slom on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of Slom—

  [Nico joins in.]

  Both: Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of Slom on the wall . . .

  [It takes fifteen minutes for them to get to zero, after which Nico gets up and leaves the room, but not before the camera catches half a second of a smile.]

  [Titania sits there lost in thought, not saying anything, swaying with the hypnotic motions of the ship. About ten minutes later, the door bursts open.]

  Clayton: [surprised to see her] Oh.

  Titania: Hi.

  Clayton: Get out.

  Titania: Excuse me?

  Clayton: Get out, bitch.

  [He pulls her up by the elbows and forcibly removes her from the room.]

  Titania: Hey! What the—

  [Clayton shuts the door and locks it.]

  Clayton: Uncle Chazz, we need to talk. This casting is absolute bullsh—

  [Titania is not going down without a fight. She bangs on the door a few times, then gives a muffled shout of “Asshole!” and leaves.]

  Clayton: [pointing at the door] This is exactly my point. These animals seem to be under the impression that they have as much of a right to be here as I do, which: Are you kidding me? Don’t get me wrong—Drunky McBoobs is a nice piece of ass, but everyone else? What were you thinking? I thought this party was going to be turnt. I thought this ship was going to be full of people like me. Like us. Instead I get a mob of gold-digging losers more deserving of McDonald’s uniforms than spacesuits. Do you have any idea what being seen with these people is going to do to my reputation? And to lose out on being leader to a pansy-ass Boy Scout? It’s libel and it’s slander and if you don’t switch it up soon, I swear to God I’ll sue the sparkly leather pants off your network—

  * * *

  With that, the 24/7 online feed cuts out.

  For good.

  Reception

  Item: Online article

  Source: ViralLoad

  Date: January 29, 2016

  DV8 has done the impossible.

  People said it would never work. They said it would fall flat on its face. What else could we expect from DV8—the ratty, loud, obnoxious little brother of televisiondom? What magical blend of factors could possibly come together to create something that people would want not only to watch but to devour? How else could one hour of television, followed by twelve hours of online content, spawn thousands of virtual words, hundreds of news segments, half a dozen dedicated podcasts, and a slew of new blogs and recaps, including by yours truly?

  DV8 has tapped into something big.

  The kids are perfectly cast. The spaceship is beautifully designed, well laid out, and provides infinite potential for titillating sight and sound bites. I mean, hello! HOT TUBS IN SPACE!!

  And can we talk about the launch? The seemingly low-budget air that pervaded the first half hour, with neither a hint of glitz nor glamour (aside from those to-die-for Alexander Wang ensembles)? The bad audio and the dead air: so preciously retro. Just a bunch of interstellar voyagers stuffed into spacesuits and flung out into the troposphere. NBD. Business as usual. Another day at the space office.

  But then when they get to the ship—opulence! Trendiness! Gratuitous product placement!

  And Clayton. DV8 has its hands full with that one! Insiders say that Clayton has been nipping at his uncle’s heels for a while now, trying to carve out a slice of fame for himself. So what took so long for Chazz to cast him? Why now?

  Regardless of the circumstances, he’s jumped out to an early lead as villain of the season. In fact, his confessional outburst has led some to say that the online feed was cut off on purpose and not, as DV8 has since stated, because of technical difficulties. Then again, perhaps the blackout was planned all along. Maximum ratings can be achieved only if the footage is aired once—no one’s going to tune in to the weekly broadcasts if half the world has seen and leaked the live feed already. So the theories are already pouring in that Chazz yanked the online coverage just as America was reaching its galactic climax. Always leave them wanting more . . .

  To which I say: bring it on. I’m perfectly happy to gulp down whatever DV8 chooses to feed me each week. In this humble reviewer’s opinion, reality is boring; abridged reality is not. As long as it’s as compelling and watchable as the launch, wild space horses couldn’t drag me away.

  So I tip my hat to you, DV8.

  * * *

  Despite the shuttered online feeds, America’s obsession with the show doesn’t diminish; if anything, the scarcity of footage causes the phenomenon to balloon far more rapidly than even Chazz must have predicted.

  Advertising dollars pour in. Everyone wants a piece of the space pie, especially those with opportune brand names: Orbit gum, Mars chocolate, and StarKist tuna all sign on as sponsors. Sales of Moon Boots soar. Consumers flock to IKEA, hoping to turn their homes into galactic/Swedish habitats. Bacon sales spike. KISS MY ASTRONAUT and CATCHPHRASE FOREVER T-shirts spring up everywhere. Stellar Acne Cream promises to pay DV8 ten thousand dollars every time someone says “Stellar!” onscreen.

  Of course, not all press is positive. While many viewers believe—or choose to believe—that the ship really is in space, others question its veracity from the start. The most booming voice of dissent is the whistle-blowing website Fakefinders, offering a scathing take on the premiere episode within hours of its broadcast.

  Item: Transcript of video recording

  Source: Fakefinders

  Date: January 29, 2016

  [A person in a Bigfoot mask faces the camera. His or her voice is distorted.]

  Bigfoot: Waste of Space, how do we fake thee? Let us count the ways:

  Those spacesuits were not real. They are film-grade A7L white EVA suits. You can rent them from any decent costume shop in Hollywood.

  That shuttle was an airplane cabin, perhaps modified to operate as a centrifuge to give the occupants a sense that they were traveling at high velocity.

  Antigravity has not been invented yet.

  All the wood onboard the ship—the sauna, the soundproof panels, the furniture—would never be allowed in space. Wood burns.

  Chazz Young conveniently neglected to tell us anything about the filtration systems onboard the ship—or what happens to all the human waste that’s bound to be created with a crew that size.

  And how did the ship get up there in the first place? If the cast had to use a shuttle to get there and dock with it, the ship must have been placed in orbit well beforehand. I didn’t hear anything about a floating mansion being launched into space. Did anyone?

  Need we go on?

  Wake up, America.

  * * *

  Regardless of the naysayers, the show dominates the news cycles. Chazz Young suddenly becomes the hottest ticket in town. Though he is invited to appear on all the major talk shows, he sticks exclusively to Perky Paisley, for obvious reasons.

  Item: Transcript of video recording

  Source: The Perky Paisley Show

  Date: January 29, 2016

  Perky: Can I feel your muscles?

  Chazz: Go for it.

  [He flexes his bicep. Perky happily squeezes it. The crowd goes wild.]

  Perky: [giggling] I know that has nothing to do with the show. I just couldn’t help myse
lf.

  Chazz: Few women can.

  Perky: So! On to the matter at hand. Needless to say, last night’s premiere has turned Waste of Space into a ginormous, monster Godzilla hit. It’s all anyone can talk about!

  Chazz: [laughing] Can you blame them?

  Perky: No! I know I’m hooked! What’s going to happen next?

  Chazz: Sorry, Perky. [with a coy grin at the camera] I’m not at liberty to discuss.

  Perky: You’re soooo mean! How can you give us such television gold and then snatch it away?

  Chazz: Oh, you know me. I like to tease.

  Perky: But I was promised twenty-four-hour online access!

  Chazz: I know, I know.

  Perky: Be honest. What happened with the online feed?

  Chazz: [adopting an air of discomfort] That’s a bit of a sore subject, Perky. As you know, we’ve devoted the most cutting-edge resources to the production of this show. But no matter how many contingencies we plan for back on Earth, interstellar travel is unpredictable. Space things are bound to go space awry, and we just have to roll with the space punches.

  Perky: You’re so brave.

  Chazz: Thank you.

  Perky: But does this change mean anything in terms of the show’s long-term plan?

  Chazz: The way I look at it, this snag is a good thing. Now, every second counts. You’ll be getting a full week’s worth of action distilled into a half hour of pure, concentrated, spacy goodness.

  Perky: Of course, that leaves a lot of room for editing.

  Chazz: Perky, you have my solemn vow: what you see in the weekly episodes will remain as faithful as we can be to what is happening onboard the ship. No spin. No clever editing. Everything exactly as it unfolds. Besides, it’s not like we erase the rest of it—maybe when this is all over, we’ll air a clip show of never-before-seen footage!