Andrew Ervin - Burning Down George Orwell's House

“Monday, Mrs. Kletzski.”

“How’s Wednesday?”

“Perfect.”

“After ten o’clock!”

“After ten, Mrs. Kletzski, got it. Have a nice day,” he said, but she didn’t hear him.

He spent the morning devising new and unusual ways to separate unwitting people from their paychecks and public-assistance payouts. His job, as he understood it, was to funnel money upward from the masses of consumers and into the already deep pockets of Logos’s wealthy clients. He was performing a small, supporting role in a rebranding campaign for two banks that had merged. Nothing interesting.

The shitstorm arrived shortly after lunch. Ray’s phone vibrated with a text from Bud:

MR. WELTER — COME HERE — I WANT TO SEE YOU

The TVs in Bud’s office were muted, maybe for the first time. “Have a seat,” he said. “I just got off the phone with Detroit.”

“The entire city?”

“No, just the part that was providing those big paychecks you were enjoying so much. Our friends the SUV makers have sold out.”

Was providing? Were enjoying?

“What do you mean sold out?”

“I mean sold-out sold out. Bought-by-another-company sold out. Took-the-money-and-ran sold out. Moving-to-China sold out.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“It means there’s no ‘us’ anymore, champ. You’re off Oil Hogg.”

“What are you talking about? It was my idea.”

“Technically speaking, the idea is the property of Logos. The manufacturer will be moving operations to China. Chongqing, to be precise. I’m told it’s in the south. Apparently the Chinese are crazy about SUVs — who knew? Looks like your little clusterfuck Oil Hogg idea helped speed along the sale.”

“What does that mean for the factories in Detroit? There have to be thousands of people working there.”

“What do you think it means? Those grease monkeys better start packing their bags and learning Sichuan or they’re shit out of luck.”

Ray had never wanted a drink so bad. Thousands of honest, hardworking Americans — people a lot like his father — were going to be out on the streets looking for jobs. He had cost those people their livelihoods.

“Also,” Bud said, “you’re getting promoted. You’re going to take the lead on our next major strategic partnership. It’s a doozy. It’s the corporate sector and the federal government rolled into one big, spicy meatball of profit. We’re talking the big time here and you, my man, are going to run the show.”

Ray was afraid to ask. “I’m afraid to ask,” he said.

“We are talking horizontal directional drilling for a big dog playa in the emerging geo-thermal solutions sector.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m fracking serious. Do you see what I just did there? Fracking, get it? It’s short for hydraulic fracturing.”

“I know what it is. The answer is no.”

“What do you mean no? Don’t be a dick.”

“Bud, I … thank you for the offer … but …”

“But what?”

“Have you seen what these companies do? They are literally destroying the ground beneath our feet. People have gas flames shooting out of their kitchen faucets.”

“Try to look at the big picture. If you can do for these guys what you did for the SUV manufacturers — and the board is convinced that you can — you will own the advertising world. We’ll have to call it rayvertising from now on. Think of your career.”

“I can’t even believe you’re serious. Fracking? I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.”

“You can’t sleep at night anyway. It’s also a bit too late for moralizing, don’t you think? Whether you’re in charge or someone else is, this partnership is going to happen. Your petty hang-ups won’t stop anyone from drilling for natural gas. The circus doesn’t shut down because an elephant tramples one clown. They paint some other jerk’s face and shove him out there.”

“Leave me out of this. I’ve done enough damage. I’d rather go back to rescripting the same three cereal ads and toothpaste commercials.”

“No you wouldn’t. We really need you on this and I might be in a position to sweeten the pot. What if just as soon as we’re done with these motherfrackers I can convince the board to let you take on an environmental charity, pro boner? Would that make it worth it to you?”

“No, I don’t know. I need to think about it.”

“Save the trees! Hug the whales! We’ll get all of the resources of Logos behind whatever dumbshit charity will help you put your crybaby concerns to rest. We wouldn’t want the company to be seen as a horde of savages willing to despoil the planet for a few lousy bucks. We are that, of course — we just don’t want to be seen that way. Did I mention the large raise this promotion will entail?”

“How big of a raise?”

“You are going to become wealthy beyond the dreams of mere mortals, I promise you.”

Maybe … just maybe … this was the exact break Ray needed. Making more money would put him in a better position to reconcile with Helen if he could prove once and for all that he was a responsible, levelheaded adult capable of compartmentalizing his work and personal life. He would gladly put any moral qualms aside if it meant patching things up and moving back home. It was time to grow up and be a professional as well as a great husband. It would be a new beginning for both of them. They could start over. “I want to think about it.”

“What’s this ‘think about it’ shit? I’m bestowing upon you the creative and financial opportunity of a lifetime.”

“I appreciate that — I really do — but after I have my appointment with Helen on Wednesday I’d like to get out of town and clear my head. I’m thinking about going up to Wisconsin, maybe drying out for a few days. I’m hoping to bring her with me. I can use the time to do some research about the benefits of clean, natural gas, and if it turns out I have something useful to say that won’t make me want to hurt myself I promise you that I will build the best market-driven solution this company has ever seen.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, Rey Momo. You’ll need to assemble a team and we’ll start the initial meet-and-greets when you get back.”

“I’ll consider it, but I’m not saying I would feel good about it.”

“No one gives a flying fuck how you feel.”

“See you next week,” Ray said. He stood to leave. “Thank you.”

“You deserve it.”

Ray packed his things and shuffled back to his neighborhood with his thought processes trapped in an infinite feedback loop. Logos was going to take on this project no matter what. Maybe he could hold his nose and do the work. He passed an empty lot that a few days ago had been a store or office or apartment building. Someone had stenciled ORWELL WAS AN OPTIMIST in huge letters on the exposed wall.

He stopped. The sight was beautiful — and so true. Things were even worse than what was described in Nineteen Eighty-Four . Not even Orwell could have even predicted the absolute disintegration of privacy. Or the emergence of social media as a means of control. Instead of telescreens, we had smartphones. Instead of thoughtcrimes we had political correctness. What was the Internet if not a way for Big Brother to track our very thoughts?

Could he really help a hydraulic fracturing company repair its public image? To refuse the job would mean letting his father down and letting himself down too. If Ray could pull this one off it would definitively prove his theories about Orwell’s usefulness to the advertising sector. Building on what he had done with Oil Hogg, he could revolutionize the entire goddamn industry.

ORWELL WAS AN OPTIMIST. That was what did it. He had to accept Bud’s offer. He could suck it up, bide his time, and ride it out. The fracking campaign couldn’t go on forever and afterward he would partner with a wind farm or whatever would help him pay down some of his karmic debt. With his tech skills and the company’s clout, Ray would be able to create the world’s most effective campaign to raise awareness about global warming.